


An Impulse Purchase

by All_the_damned_vampires



Series: Retail Therapy [2]
Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abduction, Agoraphobia, Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Assassins & Hitmen, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Caning, Claustrophobia, Cock & Ball Torture, Come Marking, Confinement, Dominance, Dry Humping, Emotional Manipulation, Flashbacks, Food Issues, Gags, Humiliation, Intercrural Sex, Learning Disabilities, M/M, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Paddling, Panic Attacks, Praise Kink, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Roleplay, Scent Kink, Self-Loathing, Sexual Slavery, Touch-Starved, pooping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 41,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/All_the_damned_vampires/pseuds/All_the_damned_vampires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen usually plans his life out to the last detail.  He's not entirely sure why on a crazy whim he decided to abduct Jared.</p><p>The sequel to "An Expensive Fantasy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Checking It Twice

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I'm just going to tell you guys I'm not writing a sequel and then write a sequel.  
> You can't trust me, I'll just lie to you.
> 
> All the usual warnings for all the usual terrible stuff. You guys know by now my garbage tendencies.
> 
> Comments and questions always welcome.

Jensen’s always been a list maker. 

There’s something intensely satisfying in crossing off each little item, _tick, tick tick_ , until the list is completed.  A job planned well and a job well done.  And of course, then the pleasure of a fresh list, the crisp piece of paper, the precision of ink gliding from the tip of Jensen’s Mont Blanc pen.

Jensen’s often sad when he has to light a match and burn his completed list away, but in his line of work leaving evidence is a definite no-no.  The beauty of a list is that it can enhance Jensen’s job, help him pull off a hit with meticulous planning.  Perhaps it’s only fitting that the list is snuffed out just like the life Jensen takes every time he’s called in to kill.

Careful. Constrained. Fastidious.  Maybe even fussy.  Jensen can accept these truths about himself, just as he can accept that he likes to provide control and pain in the bedroom, and that he’ll never enter a situation until he has made absolute sure that he’s  the one in charge, dominating and on top of things.  He’s the best at what he does because the devil’s in the details, success and sin curling through every stroke of the pen as Jensen plans out his personal and professional lives to the last element.  Jensen won’t even buy a couch without a six month period of planning; weighing the pros and cons maddeningly, examining every angle.

Jensen glances over at the tall man—Jared—passed out beside him in his car as he drives smoothly through the night.  His lean face is slack in sleep, his cheeks flushed and rosy. Beautiful. The fact that Jensen’s acquired this new pet quickly and impulsively is absolutely mind-boggling.

It was just meant to be a quick holiday.  An indulgence.  Pay for a scene of rape and pain, a delicious fantasy safely executed.  But instead, Jensen found himself with Jared at his mercy, everything he’d ever wanted in a slave, but Jared was not an actor complicit in Jensen’s fantasy.  Jared was being held in sexual bondage by some very bad men.

Chance. Opportunity.  A complete lack of planning.  Thinking quick on his feet, Jensen dispatched the mobsters holding Jared against his will, drugged his pretty man, and decided to make Jared his own.  He could have killed Jared, he probably should have.  Leaving witnesses is a rookie mistake.  But if Jensen can laud his own strengths, he can also admit his weaknesses.  He’s completely enamored with Jared.  He’d always wanted a pet, had hoped to someday have some gorgeous, submissive thing willing to grovel and spread 24/7.  Except for the ‘willing’ part, Jared fits the bill.

But he’d never thought he’d ever make that particular fantasy a reality.  After all, the devil’s in the details.

Jensen currently lives in a high rise apartment, a discrete building with good security.  It’s private, but not luxurious enough to draw too much attention.  Jensen enjoys anonymity there, perhaps a quick nod of the head in the lobby as he passes one of his harried neighbors.

But it’s not a level of discretion or privacy that matches up with holding a person against his will.  The walls are too thin to mask the inevitable sounds of Jared’s screams for help.  Also, Jensen uses his home mostly to eat and sleep, occasionally to unwind.  He hasn’t made much of a dungeon amid the stark white walls and beige carpeting.

Jensen keeps his hands at ten and two, but inside his mind a piece of paper unfolds, bright and white behind his eyes.  A list.

_Required: an appropriate location to keep Jared.  Musts: isolated, secure, comfortable, equipped_

The second immediate problem is how to pacify Jared once he’s in his new home.  Jensen asked for a big man to torment and Jared is massive.  He’s got a natural ability as a fighter from what Jensen’s observed, a long reach and good reflexes. He’s not going to be easy to subdue.

Jensen tucks his tongue against his cheek as he mulls over this problem.  Drugs are, of course, highly effective, and not terribly hard to acquire in Jensen’s line of work.  There are several options to incapacitate Jared.  Even perhaps addict him.  An unwilling pet might come around quicker when jones-ing for his next hit.  Although long term addiction can be unattractive. 

And Jensen enjoys Jared the best when he’s pleading with clear eyes and a clearer mind.

Of course, restraints would also be a good option.  But Jensen would have to move Jared in and out of his bonds, whether they be cuffs or a cage, a hood or spreader bars. 

Endless opportunity for Jared to fight, to escape.

_Required: a successful method to dominate/contain Jared.  Musts: sustainable, mostly benign (?), effective_

The additional piece of the puzzle of course is Jensen’s line of work.  He’s an excellent hitman, a workaholic of sorts, ever ready to fly off at a moment’s notice to plan an execution.  He’s talented, but he’s going to need to scale down his work now with his new pet a priority.  Jensen’s on good terms with his handler, but he’s not sure how they’re going to take it when he calls in to admit that 1) he wants to take fewer contracts and 2) he may have completed an unsolicited hit in order to procure the man who’s now the reason he needs to take fewer contracts.

There’s no guarantee in this business even when you’re on your boss’ good side.  Occasionally Jensen’s called in to dispatch a harmless target: a senator with a guilty conscience, some hapless housewife who witnessed a crime.  But many of the people he’s sent after are evil, evil men.  Men with enough money and power to have considerable protection.  One day, despite all his skill and planning, Jensen might not make it back.

Jensen pictures Jared starving to death in a cage in some remote location, suffering in agony as he wonders why his master never comes.  Not a pretty way to die.  If it comes down to it—when it comes down to it, Jensen corrects himself pragmatically—he needs to provide a clean and painless death for his pet.

_Required: a solution to employment problems.  Musts: flexibility, reduction of risk, contingency plan_

Jensen lets his mind churn as he presents and discards possibilities, adding and removing ideas as he builds his list in his head.  This sense of being overwhelmed, of not having thought things through, is unpleasant to Jensen.  He reassures himself from time to time by indulging in a quick glance at Jared, his prize.  Every time he does he’s reassured that his impulse was correct: Jared is exactly who and what he wants.

Even lax and defenseless, the man’s biceps are straining the tight t-shirt Jensen found for him.  Below the too short hem of Jared’s shirt the ridged muscle of his stomach rise and fall with his gentle breaths.  Jensen reaches over to idly drag a finger through the light brown thatch of hair low on Jared’s abdomen and creates a second mental list that is definitely more fun that the first. 

Jared’s body hair: keep or remove?

Finally, Jensen is satisfied with his preliminary plans.  His biggest enemy now is time.  Jared will only stay drugged for so long, and Jensen needs to at minimum get Jared to a secure if temporary location, and engage a babysitter for him while he completes the tasks on his mental list.

Jensen sucks in a breath and dials a number on his disposable cell phone.

“Hello?”

“Sir.”

“It’s like that, is it?” Jensen’s handler sounds amused, in good spirits, even through the static-y connection of the phone. “Thought you were on vacation.  What is it?”

“I need a favor, Tim.  A big one.”

“This doesn’t sound like you.  Are you in trouble?”

Jensen grimaces. “I hope not.  Are you available?”

“What do you need?”

“A safe house.  Of sorts.  For a guest.  I’m in route now.”

Jensen aims his car down the highway, setting the cruise control for five miles under the speed limit.  He gives Tim a brief summary of what he needs, then hangs up.  It’s six hours to the safe house, but plenty of time before Jared will wake up

The devil’s in the details.  Jensen needs to make sure he doesn’t get caught up.


	2. Adventures in Babysitting

Jared’s eyes flutter open, and he has no idea where he is.  He knows he’s cold, shivering, his bare feet like ice and his midriff weirdly chilly.  He gropes around beside the bed until he finds a blanket, one that must have slipped off in the night, and wraps it back around his body.  He shudders, tiny chills, as his temperature comes back up, and he lets his eyes slip shut again.  Consciousness can wait.

Hours later Jared’s eyes pop open and he groans.  His body is stiff, and achy in weird places, his dick feeling chafed and irritated and his ass a throbbing ache.  He thinks _overslept_ and _late for work_ until he remembers.  Fired from his job.  Apartment torched by an arsonist.

Jared jerks into a seated position.

Threatened.  Drugged.  Tortured.  Raped.  Drugged.

The blond man.  Master.

Jared remembers everything.

Jared’s breath comes panicked and shallow and he twists the blanket in his hands, trying to calm down.  He can see that he’s alone, in a room, sprawled out on a bare mattress, covered in the kind of wool blanket you see in the movies, the ones used in a military barracks, scratchy and rough.

Nothing on the walls, nothing on the floor.  No windows.  A single door.  There’s a small opening about face level in the door, but covered with wood, like the opening in a confessional booth.

Jared hasn’t been to church in a while, but he’s pretty sure there’s no patient and kindly priest waiting on the other side of the door.

Jared stands up, shivering.  The bare cement floor is cold under his toes.  The walls are cement too and if Jared had to guess, he’s probably in someone’s basement.

Jared’s not too optimistic that anything nice is going to happen to him here.

Still, he’s been accused of being a “glass is half full” type of guy more than once in his life.  It’s an outlook that’s helped him survive low paying and mind numbing jobs.

Perhaps the door is unlocked.

Jared jiggles the handle, then curses his naiveté.  Of course it’s locked.  He’s been abducted (again, he thinks angrily) and drugged and no one’s going just let him walk away from this whole awful mess.

Mark was in charge, but now his strange blond tormentor is. 

Whether things get better or worse under new management remains to be seen.

“Hello?” Jared calls out politely then promptly curses internally.  “Please” and “thank you” is not required in this type of situation.

“Let me the fuck out!”

Then Jared remember the rule about cursing and the tiny flogger and feels sick.

“Please!  Let me out!”

The small opening in the door slides open and Jared approaches the door quickly, stomach churning.  He sees steel blue eyes under heavy dark brows and he’s surprisingly alarmed that it isn’t his blond tormentor, but some unknown person.

“Here,” says the man behind the door.  His voice has a rich, sonorous quality, like an old time radio announcer. He passes through a tray, a plastic cafeteria-style one.  Three Tupperware containers and a bottle of water are balanced on its flat surface. “It’s time to eat.”

Jared takes the tray reflexively, before he can even think to protest.

“Eat.  Eat everything.”

“Let me out!” Jared says desperately.  But the small opening slides shut.  His captor is walking away, completely unresponsive to Jared’s cries.

Jared sets down the tray and kicks the door in frustration then yelps in pain. The door must have a metal core.  He yells and bangs with his fists, until his hands are aching and his voice gone.

Nobody comes.  Not to soothe him, not to punish him.

Jared indulges himself by collapsing down on the mattress and crying desperate, panicked tears.

**

Brown rice.  Steamed broccoli.  Cooked chicken.

The food in Jared’s three containers is cool by the time he opens them to eat, but he doubts it was ever warm in the first place.  The food is terribly bland, not a pat of butter or a pinch of salt in any of the containers, although the portions are large.

He’d rather have a large pepperoni pizza all to himself and a bottle of soda, but Jared’s hungry enough to polish it all off.

And that was a real conundrum.  Jared wasn’t sure if he should eat all the food.  After all, who knew when he would be fed again?  But the strange man had said “eat everything” and Jared could feel that tiny voice inside him--the one that wouldn’t let him ever jaywalk and insisted that he return his shopping cart to the front of the store—telling him to obey.

And so he did.

Jared’s not sure how much time passed before the opening in the door slides open again.  Jared scrambles to the opening, fear making him both defiant and also in desperate need of reassurance.  If this strange man could just tell him what was happening…

“Please,” Jared says. “Please let me out.  Who are you?  What’s happening?”

“Show me the containers,” the man says, as if he hasn’t heard a word Jared’s said and Jared holds the Tupperware up for inspection, heart pounding.

“Good.  Pass the two smaller ones through to me.”

Jared does so, then clutches the last one, the largest one, to his chest, frowning.

“You’ll need that one.  After you’ve used it, seal it shut.  I’ll collect it when I bring your next meal.  Use the water bottle to collect your urine.”

After he’s _used_ it?  Jared blinks, and then he understands.  There’s no toilet here, in what is now clearly Jared’s prison cell.

Ew. Just, ew.

“I don’t want to poop in a plastic bowl, please.  I can be good, I can walk to the bathroom.” 

And walking to the bathroom means a chance at escape, if Jared can take it.  He’s young and he’s strong and he’s pretty sure he has a chance against his captor, given the opportunity.

“I’ll be back with your dinner in a few hours.  You should rest up.”

“Just tell me what you want from me.  Why are you holding me?”

“Rest.”

“Let me out!  Let me out now!”

But the man is already closing the hatch and walking away.  Jared beats on the door some more, just for something to do.  He screams and screams.

It’s hopeless.  But he has to do something.

Jared finally winds down and collapses on the bed, panting.  He looks at the Tupperware bowl, sitting innocently on the floor.

“No way in hell,” Jared mutters and kicks it against the wall.

**

Jared wakes on day two of his confinement, cold and itchy and desperately wanting a shower.  His gut aches a bit and he tries not to think about the reason.

The plastic bowl in the corner is mocking him with its emptiness and Jared kicks it again for good measure as he stands up and stretches his body to warm up.

The night before his captor had arrived with dinner—rice, broccoli and chicken again—and had whisked away the dishes (all three of them) and the bottle of urine Jared had handed over, face red and hot with shame.   The same bland, unemotional responses, the same refusal to answer Jared’s pleading and questions.  A while later the man had returned with what appeared to be a protein drink and two small white pills.

“Drink this and take these.”

“What are they?”

“Ativan.  It will help you sleep.”

Jared had blinked.  He hadn’t really expected his captor to respond at all.

“No thanks.  I’m fine.  I don’t want drugs.”

“You’ll take them or there will be consequences,” the blue-eyed man had said, tone bland and matter-of-fact, no anger or threat in his words.

“Bring it!” Jared had snarled.  He had been tired of this polite and terrifying waiting.  He was ready for a fight.  Ready to do something.  If the man had opened the door, Jared would come at him with everything he had.

But his captor only chuckled. “No consequences from me, Jared.”

Jared had startled at the use of his name.  Who was this man?  Why was he keeping him?

“I’m only here to care for you.  This is temporary.  But believe me, I’ll report everything I see and hear.  Everything you do.”

“To who?” A face had arisen in Jared’s mind.  Expressive green eyes.  A chiseled and cruel beauty. He had blurted out, “To Master?”

The man had laughed. “Master?  Really? That’s funny.”

“I don’t know his name,” Jared had said defensively. “Do you?”

“Yes.  But I don’t think I’ll tell you.  ‘Master ‘ is perfect. He’ll approve.”

“You could let me go,” Jared had said coaxingly.  He’s not a whore; he’d never sold his ass, although he’d had offers.  But the idea that he was being kept like a pet, held in trust while his blond tormentor did…something, had made him desperate. “I could, uh, suck you off.  Or whatever.  Whatever you want.  If you’ll let me go.”

“I wouldn’t recommend you make me that offer again,” the man had said coldly.  There was a rustle of paper, as if he was unfolding something.  “It’s on the list of infractions.  Along with the fact that you’ve used a swear word twice since you’ve been here.”

Jared’s mind had whirled and he had felt sick.  He had.  He had sworn twice.  In an instant he was back in Mark’s dungeon room, both aroused and terrified, at the mercy of a sadistic stranger.  He could feel the sting of the flogger strands on his cock, that unbelievably sharp pain.  Two swear words.

Jared had tried to remember the other rules Master insisted upon, but his mind had been filled with howling white noise.

“Can I see the list?” Jared had heard himself say.

The man had chuckled. “Nope.  He said you knew the rules.  Go ahead, take the pills.  Do yourself a favor.”

Jared had swallowed them down meekly then.  Drank his protein shake.  He curled up in the room, in the low dim light.  In the end, sleep had come quickly and deeply and Jared had been grateful for the pills.

Now awake, Jared prowls his cell, both anxious and defiant.  Two swear words.  That means at some point, Jared’s rapist will make a reappearance.  At some point, either he’ll come in to the cell or Jared will be taken out.

Jared will have to be ready.

The morning meal comes and its cold scrambled eggs, plain toast and grapes.  But before Jared can dig in, the blue-eyed man holding him prisoner passes him a crisp piece of folded paper.

“Before you eat a meal,” the man says. “’Master’ wants you to complete the exercises on this list.”

Fascinated, Jared unfolds the piece of paper.  It’s an expensive slip of vellum, and the cursive script is bold and even, traced out in rich blue ink.

Exercise. Sit ups, push -ups, lunges and so forth.  The type of calisthenics Jared is familiar with, exercise that is cheap and easy because it doesn’t require a gym or equipment, only a person’s own body weight.

Jared scans down the list.  About 30 minutes of exercise, give or take.  There’s additional detailed notation next to each type of exercise.  Number of repetitions, duration of time for each rep.  Small reminders about proper form and appropriate breathing.

What sort of anal retentive asshole would make this kind of list?

“Is this for real?” Jared asks skeptically.

“You’re being watched.  I would recommend you follow these instructions to the letter,” the man says and Jared gets the feeling that he finds this all to be as amusing as hell.

Jared decides to cooperate.  He’ll bide his time, wait for the right moment to make his escape.  In the meantime, eating healthy and building up his muscle tone can’t hurt.  At least he’ll be in excellent shape when the time comes to fight for freedom.

Jared’s right.  The exercises, when done to the list’s specifications, take exactly 30 minutes.  Coated in a light sheen of sweat, and feeling a bit greasy but energized, Jared digs in to his uninspiring breakfast.

The grapes are the best part.

The day continues much in the same vein.  Exercise then lunch.  Brown rice, broccoli, but this time poached fish.  Jared’s new diet is so far the most torturous thing about his confinement.  He’s a bit of a junk food junkie and all this health-nut food is making him a bit crazy.

After lunch Jared’s stomach is a bit distended and sore but he’s holding on.  He will not be pooping in a plastic bowl thank you very much, he doesn’t care how much he hurts.

When the blue-eyed man comes to collect Jared’s lunch dishes, he has Jared retain another of the large Tupperware containers.  He says, “You’re going to need to work this out sooner rather than later.”

“Sure,” Jared says sarcastically.  He lines the second container up against the wall with the first.  No fucking way.

“Take this,” the man says and hands Jared a book.

Jared takes it eagerly. Other than eating and doing squats and jumping jacks he’s been pacing and worrying, both scared and bored.  He wouldn’t mind a book to take his mind off this whole messed up situation.

“Dungeon 101” says the cover.  In fine print at the bottom it says “Everything the submissive needs to know to get started.”

“Twilight Zone,” Jared murmurs faintly. “I’m in the Twilight Zone.”  He’s beginning to get a clearer picture of what’s going on here.  The blond stranger has apparently kidnapped Jared for the express purpose of turning him into his own sex slave. And ‘Master’ apparently has very specific, detailed, and insane methods for preparing his slave.

This isn’t leisure reading.  This is fucking homework.

“Read up, kid,” the man says and then he’s closing the hatch and walking away, leaving Jared staring at the book in his hands like he’s holding a poisonous reptile.


	3. Everybody Poops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is this sequel about Jared/Jensen sexy times?"  
> "Um, yeah. Eventually. But right now it's about Tim making Jared poop in a bowl."  
> "That's...that's not what I asked for."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter should serve as warning enough.

Jared’s tempted to line the book up with the two plastic containers, but boredom gets the better of him.  He lies on his mattress, rubbing his aching stomach, and reads the damn book.

When he’s done he’s both turned on and so furious his face is flaming.

Bullshit. The whole situation is bullshit.  The book waxes on and on about how everything is the submissive’s choice, about creating limits and using safe words, about ending a scene safely.  All the power, the book repeats, is in the hands of the sub.

“Really?” Jared mutters sarcastically. “Where’s the chapter on kidnapping?”

But Jared can’t deny that the book gets him hot.  He’s never been into kinky stuff in his personal life, always been a bit self-conscious in the bedroom.  But the book has plenty of beautiful black and white pictures, of men and women blindfolded and restrained or kneeling with clasped hands.  Pictures of people who aren’t models, imperfect bodies, but alluring, with fleshy curves or sharp angles and soft, open mouths. Jared can’t help but picture himself on his knees, skin bare and exposed, hands clasped behind his back, even as his mind skitters away from the image in horror.

Jared adjusts his dick in his sweatpants and wonders if jerking off is on Mr. Psychopath’s list of don’ts.

He’s had time to think and to calm down, to review his night with Master and the rules that his tormentor had insisted upon.  He might be wrong—some moments were panicked and hazy—but he thinks there’s only three.  He’s not allowed to scream, he’s not allowed to swear, and he’s supposed to beg.  Jared supposes he can add a fourth rule: no propositioning his jail keeper. 

But Jared has a sneaking suspicion there may be more rules added to that list he’s not allowed to see and it’s fucking unfair.

Two swear words.  Jared’s not sure how much screaming he did but since Master isn’t here to choke him into silence he supposes he doesn’t need to worry too much about that one. 

But the two swear words.  Jared can’t stop thinking about them.

Dinner comes and it’s harder to do the exercises now.  Jared’s gut is painful and cramping and it takes much longer to get through the sets.  Jared thinks about blowing off the last few but again that small voice in his head is scolding him, telling him to follow the rules.  He completes the last ones with difficulty.

He doesn’t want to eat.  His stomach feels packed full already and the food is boring.  In the end he gives up and leaves the food half finished.  He lies on his mattress, breath hissing between his teeth a bit, as he finishes up his book.  He’s a quick reader, always has been.

His jailer is disapproving when he comes to collect the containers. “You’re being an idiot.”

“Fuck off,” Jared snarls and then immediately bites his lip.  Three swear words.

“Just use the bowl.  You’ll feel better.”

“You go poop in a bowl, tell me how you like it.”

His jailer sighs. “How’s the book?”

“Finished,” Jared says sullenly.  And he actually did line it up next to his empty containers.  Fuck every single thing against that wall.

“So soon?”

Yeah.”

“You must be really smart,” the blue-eyed man says and Jared feels his gut twist further.  There’s no malice in the man’s tone, no sarcasm, but Jared’s never heard those words said to him without cruelty behind them.

“You just said I was an idiot,” Jared reminds him.

“Here,” the man says and he’s handing over another piece of crisp paper and a stubby red crayon.

“What’s this?” Jared asks, taking the items.

“Pop quiz,” the man says and Jared thinks he might throw up.

“What?!”

“Just fill it out,” the man says. “This is not my idea, I’m just following instructions.”

“Wait!” Jared says quickly as the man turns to close the hatch and leave.  He’s desperate for any delay. “Please, what’s your name?”

His jailer turns back around.  There’s lines crinkling beside those bright blue eyes.  He must find Jared amusing. “You can call me ‘Sir’.”

The hatch slides closed and Jared collapses down on his mattress.  Heart pounding, he unfolds the paper and stares at that familiar blue script. 

Multiple choice.  He’s fucked.

***

Jared curls up around his aching belly and thinks about his dad.  A soft-spoken widower, a talented mechanical engineer in his home country, but in America, with the language barrier, a humble mechanic.  He thinks about how his father never raised his hand or his voice to Jared, his gentle ways and unending love enough of a carrot to keep Jared always striving for his approval.

“Oh, love,” his father would say when Jared came in to the house with a black eye or another failing test score. “Come here.”

And he would gather Jared up on his lap, despites Jared’s long limbs and his half-serious protests.

“I’m too big!” Jared would protest.

“Never,” his father had answered in his lilting accent, although Jared’s long legs would dangle down to the floor like the limbs of an octopus. “Never too big.”  Then he would press a kiss to Jared’s cheek.

He died of a heart attack, as quietly as he had lived, the year Jared was struggling to negotiate his first semester of community college.

Jared’s missed him so much, but never so much as in this moment, when he’s alone and scared and he knows that whatever he does, he’s going to fail.

He’s never tested well.  He’s not sure why.  He just knows that every test he’s been given heralds an avalanche of anger and disappointment.  Make up assignments and summer school and teachers Jared’s admired, teachers he’s tried so hard to please, looking at him in disgust.

His senior year, his English teacher had been especially compassionate.  She’d talked to all his teachers and convinced most of them to let Jared write an essay instead of do multiple choice, or better yet sit down and talk out the answers to his assignments.  She might be the only reason he was able to get his diploma.

Jared doesn’t expect to find any compassion here.  He copes in his usual way: cries a bit, crumples the test up in rage, smoothes the paper back out, and then sets out to answer every damn question wrong with that stupid stubby crayon.

It looks ugly, the childish red wax against Master’s careful, elegant script and Jared feels like a child.  A dumb, brainless child.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Sir collects the test when he comes to drop off Jared’s protein drink and pills.  Jared waits, hunched over a bit in discomfort, as the blue-eyed man silently reads his paper.

“Why are you doing this?” Sir asks, not sounding angry but there’s disappointment in his tone.  Jared curls farther in on himself in shame. “You can have more time to finish the book. Why would you lie to me?”

Jared doesn’t say anything.  He’s tried.  He’s tried before.  To say he’s not lying, he did his best, he doesn’t know what the problem is.

It never works.

“Don’t lie,” Sir repeats and hands over Jared’s tray.  It’s not the drink and the pills.  It’s one solitary container instead. Something smells good and despite his aching belly Jared’s mouth waters.

“Why, is lying on the list?” Jared asks distractedly.  He wants to get at whatever’s in the bowl.  He’s sick of brown rice.

Sir chuckles. “Perhaps it’s on my list.”

“You have a list?”

“No.  Go ahead, eat.  A special treat.”

Jared opens the bowl.  Mashed potatoes, creamy and smooth, still steaming with heat.  Golden swirls of butter amid the fluffy potatoes.  He scoops a bit into his mouth and moans.

Gluttonously, Jared consumes the whole pile, delighting in the taste and feel of good food.  It’s only ten minutes after he’s finished, when he feels something bearing down upon him like a tsunami, does he angrily remember that nothing good is ever going to come from this situation.

He needs to shit.  Like now.  No finesse, no control.  It’s coming, whether he wants it or not.

Jared just barely manages to pull down his pants in time and squat over one of the bowls.  His gut cramps, his bowels loosen, and a stream of shit is flying out of him, the sound and smell unbearable.

The volume is huge and Jared moans and cries in pain, fumbling to move the second bowl under him with a minimum of spillage.  His thighs cramp from holding himself in a squatting position and he wobbles, trying not to make a god awful mess.

It tapers off and Jared begins to stand up, although he doesn’t want to pull up his pants, when the cramping starts back up again.  Fuck it.  Jared grabs the empty mashed potatoes container and squats again.

It’s finally over.  Jared stands for a moment, legs shaking, pants around his ankles, just to make sure he’s done.  He is.  Scrunching up his nose, he quickly seals up each container.  He’s a bit of a mess in the back and his ass stings but it’s over.

The hatch slides open and Jared wants to yank up his pants but he doesn’t want to get his only clothing messy.  He stands for a moment, defiantly naked from the waist down, under Sir’s cool gaze, before blushing and pulling up the sweat pants.

“Feeling better?”

“With all due respect, go set yourself on fire, Sir.”

“Good boy.  Hand it over.”

Face flaming, Jared hands over the three bowls of poop.  He blinks when he’s handed back a clean t-shirt, sweats, and a box of wet wipes.

“Clean up, kid,” Sir says, carting away the evidence of Jared’s shame. “I’ll be back for the dirties.”

It’s not a shower, but running a clean cloth over every inch of his skin makes Jared feel better.  He even works a bit on his tangled, greasy hair, although he doubts the wet wipes make much of a difference there.

The clean sweats and t-shirt fit him much better than the old.

Jared piles everything together and tries not to think about the amount of trash he’s adding to some landfill.  He’s a reusable tote type of guy, and he’s pretty sure Sir won’t be washing out any of his containers for reuse.

When Sir returns to collect he has another item for Jared.  A large plastic bag, with what appears to be a man’s button-down shirt folded inside.  Curiously, Jared unseals the bag and a whiff of cologne reaches his nose.  Smokey and woodsy.  Hint of sweat. Sexy.  The smell of Master.

“Is this a comfort item?” Jared asks, holding the bag and regarding it with suspicion.

“What?” Sir says, sounding surprised.

“Comfort item.” It was a small note in a sidebar in the book. “An item designed to soothe a sub in the absence of his dom.  Does my psycho kidnapper know these things only work if you actually _want_ to have an emotional bond with the person giving you the item?”

“You read the book.”

“I read the book.” Jared meets his jailer’s eyes defiantly.  Sir can make of that what he will. “I don’t think this shirt is gonna give me the warm fuzzies.”

“Nevertheless it’s on the list,” Sir says and hands Jared his sleeping pills.

Later, Jared lies drowsily on his mattress, staring up at the ceiling.  His stomach feels better and he’s as clean as possible give the circumstances and his midriff is no longer cold now that his shirt fits properly.  He pulls the bag with the shirt towards him and opens it a crack.  Presses his nose to the opening.  It’s the best smelling thing in this entire dreary cell.

It can’t hurt to take a small whiff, now and then.


	4. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a scene where Jared has a flashback to the gas mask scene.

Can't breathe.

Stink of plastic and rubber. Petroleum grave. From far away, the thrum of pleasure, pressure building in his gut, jerking his hips.  No air. Behind the clear plastic of the gas mask, only inches away but on another planet, a smiling face.

 Help me. Can't breathe.

  
Jared wakes choking, spit pooling in his throat, fingers clawing for the opening to the gas mask.  There’s a scrape and a sting as his fingers meet flesh instead of plastic but he can still feel it, covering his face, smothering him.  As he sputters and gags, mouth open and wet, he manages to suck in a quick breath and push out a thin scream. He pushes up from the mattress--plastic, slick plastic, sticking to his skin--and stumbles to the door.  He beats one fist frantically against the metal, other hand still digging at his wet face.

  
Smothering. He coughs again, another rasping breath, another watery scream.  


"Jared!”

  
Someone is calling his name. Jared looks up, eyes hazy with tears. Face in the window.  A face but not that face.  Sir looking at him through the plastic front of the mask.

  
"Help!"

  
"What is it? What are you doing?"

  
"Take...it...off," Jared gasps. There is no building pleasure, not now.  Just that emptiness, isolation, a see-through coffin.

  
"Jared, calm down. You're having a panic attack. Deep breath."

  
Sir's voice is calm, clear, unmuffled by the rubber caging Jared's face.  No, no mask.  There is no mask.  It’s Sir's face, visible through the hatch in the door, constant as ever. Jared stops clawing at his face and begins to press himself as close to the opening as he can, as if a six and a half foot tall man could fit through a space big enough for only a small house cat.

  
"Please!"

  
"Breathe.  Count with me. 1-2-3 then a breath. Ready."

  
"Please come in! Help me!"

  
Jared can feel the frame of the hatch hard and unyielding against his cheek, his head throbbing with heat and panic.  He’s trapped in a room, not in a mask, but it feels the same.  Suffocating.  Isolating. Airless.

  
"I can't come in. Listen.  Listen to my voice.  Are you listening?"

  
"Yes. Help."

  
"Count with me. ready?"

  
Jared nods, still panting.  Count to three, gasp in and out. Listen to Sir's voice, watch Sir's blue eyes. 1-2-3, breath. Jared can feel himself calming.  He’s drenched in sweat, heart pounding, pressing as close to Sir as possible, cold and alone and far away, only Sir’s voice to ground him.

  
"1-2-3-please!"

  
"There are rules. I can't. Just breathe."

  
Slowly Jared comes back to reality. Dank little prison. No mask on his face. A dream, just a dream. Or a flashback. No mask. Plenty of air.

In the dim light Jared can see every inch of his cell.  It’s just light enough to see what he’s begun to call his “Fuck This” wall, the place where he leaves his worries and humiliations.  The books Sir has been giving him.  The hated container.  A tally in red crayon on the wall of how many days he thinks he’s been held captive—a week and a half. A second tally of swear words: he’s up to four.

The most recent book—a slim manual about breathplay—is buried under all the others, but Jared still knows it’s there. 

  
Jared cries soft tears of relief as he calms down, slumped against the door.  His face stings, particularly his left cheek, but through the pain and the wetness of sweat and tears he can feel another sensation.  A long finger, a bit rough at the tip, stroking along his jaw.  A tiny touch, small and warm, human contact on a single square inch of flesh.

  
"Sir," Jared breathes.

  
The finger hesitates, then resumes stroking. "I'm here, kid."

  
What would Sir do, Jared wonders, if Jared turned his head, sucked that long finger into his mouth? Would he withdraw? Would he open the door and come in and take what in this moment Jared is more than willing to give him?

  
A moment of thought and Jared decides to do nothing.  He relaxes into the tiny touch, his first human contact in a week.  Sir strokes his cheek for a few long minutes, then carefully withdraws his hand.

  
"Please," Jared begs softly.  Anything, he would do anything at all, if Sir would only open the door.

“You know, a person taking Ativan shouldn’t be able to have a panic attack.”

Jared flushes with shame, and then anger.  The two pills are sitting in Jared’s container, spit out.  Small rebellion.  He had been so tense, after that book, and furious with himself.  Compliant.  He’s always tried to be good and do what he’s told and he’s sitting here doing what his kidnappers want like a pet.  He wanted to hit something.  He wanted to scream.

But he was afraid of the consequences for losing control like that.

Instead he palmed his pills.  And once again the only person he seems to be hurting is himself.

“Go get them and take them,” Sir says, voice as calm and controlled as ever.  There’s seemingly no way to push his jailer’s buttons.

Jared reluctantly pushes away from the door, fishes the pills out of the bowl that still smells vaguely of cooked chicken, and swallows them dry.

  
"Get your comfort bag."

  
"I don't want it," Jared says automatically, although a part of him does.

  
"Do as I ask. Take the shirt out of the bag."

  
"But it will lose the smell--"

  
"You think he didn't give me half a dozen more? Take it out."

  
Jared finds himself sitting on his mattress, shirt in his arms, wet face pressed to the fabric.  Strangely, there’s no negative associations with this scent, which is the scent of Master above him, biting at his neck.  The alarming smell is coming from the mattress below and Jared can only posit that he fell asleep with his nose pressed to the vinyl edging, triggering his dream.

  
No mask.  Not yet.  But Jared has a sneaking suspicion it is coming. Master likes it and Master will return.  Jared’s not sure if he feels fear or relief at that thought.

  
"Better?"

  
"I guess," Jared mutters.  Better would be being free.  Better would be getting out.  Better would at least be someone to hold him.  He’s craving touch as fiercely as a desert wanderer might crave water.

  
"Want to tell me?"

  
"No."

  
"Okay," Sir says and Jared can hear him begin to close the hatch.

  
"Please stay!"

  
"The rules aren't only for you, Jared.  I'm already breaking some of them."

  
Jared jerks his head up at that. "Which ones?"

  
"Not telling you.  I have to go.  Try to sleep.  Breakfast isn't that far off."

  
"Please," Jared says again but Sir’s already closing the hatch.

  
Jared lies back down, shirt carefully tucked between himself and the mattress, breathing and counting, thinking about what Sir said and what rules he might be breaking.


	5. The Talk

“You’re an idiot.”  
Jensen frowns at the flat tone coming from the telephone receiver. “I asked for a status report, Tim.”  
“That’s my report: You’re an idiot. And you need to get back here. Now.”  
“I’m working on several delicate issues,” Jensen says a bit impatiently. “I can’t—“  
“You have 48 hours.”  
“Tim, I need—“  
“48 hours. I’m not holding him a second longer.”  
“I’m still planning,” Jensen says defensively. He hates to be rushed. He usually won’t take a hit that requires a short time limit. He needs to plan, to weigh his options, to consider all the angles.  
He’s been craving Jared, craving to see him again, to have him under him, under his control and his will. Tim has a video feed of the cell interior but Jensen won’t let himself be tempted. Work first, play later. Too many delicious distractions during a time when Jensen can’t afford to be careless.  
“It’s not that complicated,” Tim responds and Jensen frowns again, but he’s listening. Tim is much more off the cuff than Jensen. Back when he was taking assignments instead of scheduling them, he wouldn’t blink twice at being dropped blind into a dangerous situation. He’s got keen observational skills and after two weeks with Jared he probably has a better handle on the man than Jensen does after one night.  
The spurt of hot jealousy is useless in this situation and Jensen puts it aside next to his desire and impatience.  
“He’s fine?”  
“No. He’s not a person that does well in isolation. I’m sure if it was you in that cell, you’d be brushing up on your chess and teaching yourself a new language. But Jared’s not like you.”  
Jensen rubs the back of his neck. The isolation is necessary. He’s asked Tim to limit conversations, to avoid any physical contact. Basic human nature seeks attachment, connection, bonding. Jensen was hoping the distraction of self-improvement would be enough, until he was able to retrieve his prize.  
“He’s reading the books I’ve recommended?”  
“Yes, and that’s another thing. I don’t think it’s having the effect you hoped for.”  
Tim sounds uncomfortable, not a usual emotion for such an unflappable man. He and Jensen have a cordial professional relationship, and somewhat of an unprofessional friendship based on their mutual interest in dominance. Asking Tim to house and in some ways train his pet is asking a lot from someone who is probably the closest friend Jensen has, but who has always maintained some distance.  
“It’s efficient,” Jensen argues. “He doesn’t know much about being my slave. This is a good use of his time.”  
“You know, every time I think I’m the coldest fish I only need to have a conversation with you,” Tim says. “The books are about consensual BDSM.”  
“A small detail. It doesn’t matter.”  
“It’s the only thing that matters,” Tim says. “You’re rubbing his face in it. Every book is a reminder of his situation. It’s like abducting some Eastern European girl and forcing her into prostitution, then throwing a bunch of bridal magazines into the back of the truck with her.”  
The emotion that should well up in Jensen’s chest is guilt, but he doesn’t feel it. He’s had a lot of practice mimicking the emotions he knows he should feel, but doesn’t. He’s fought his dark desires, made do with pale imitations of what he’s wanted.  
Now he’s found what he wants and he’s taken it and there’s no going back.  
“I need more time,” Jensen tries.  
“You could just let him go,” Tim responds. “He doesn’t even know your name. At this point he’s not going to go to the police. He’ll probably count his lucky stars he got off light, maybe start going to church on a regular basis.”  
There’s anger and possessiveness making Jensen’s face flush hot and this time it’s harder to push the emotions away, to stay objective.  
“There’s been a complication,” Jensen admits. “With Pellegrino.”  
“There shouldn’t be,” Tim growls, slipping into his handler mode. “Because you are thorough and professional and please tell me you did a surveillance check and there is no evidence that you killed three men because you were thinking with your dick.”  
“I wiped the video tapes,” Jensen answers. “There’s no evidence of me being there.”  
“But there is evidence of Jared being there. Right?”  
“Yes. From the previous day. They know who he is and why he was there. They’re looking for him.”  
“You idiot. Damn it, Jensen.”  
It’s unlike Jensen and Jensen knows it. He takes pride in his professional perfectionism. Opportunistic killings, done in the heat of anger, just aren’t his style. Sloppy.  
“So I can’t let him go.” Not that he would.   
“48 hours.”  
“I told you—“  
“48 hours or when you finally do get off your ass to collect him he’ll be sitting at my feet and wearing my collar.”  
Jensen sees red. “How dare you—“  
“Do you think I can’t? Do you he wouldn’t? Two weeks and that kid’s already desperate for any kind word from me. He’s easier than you think. The smallest bit of manipulation and he’s mine; no drugs, no restraints.”  
“If you think I won’t come for him,” Jensen says fiercely. “If you think I won’t come for you…”  
“Calm down,” Tim says tiredly. “I’ve no interest in going head to head with you, guns blazing. He’s yours. Now come and get him.”  
“Fine,” Jensen concedes. The rage is slowly receding. He’s never felt this way before, and it’s dangerous.  
Wanting Jared is dangerous.  
“Work it out,” Tim says and he hangs up the phone.  
Jensen sags down into the chair near the desk in his posh hotel room. He sits for a long minute, breathing in and out, trying to calm his racing mind.   
Then he draws out his pen and a fresh sheet of paper.


	6. Breadcrumbs

Jared comes back to consciousness slowly.  The first thing he registers is the smell of detergent, clean and soothing.  He can still smell himself, somewhat, the grease of his hair and the stink of his sweat unavoidable, but he doesn’t smell his increasingly dirty, bare mattress, or the cold, damp smell of his concrete cell.

He opens his eyes to clean, crisp, white sheets, bright light, and to the sound of birdsong.

He’s in a large bedroom, in a large bed with a rustic wooden frame.  It’s no anywhere he’s ever been before.

Jared remembers.  The night before, Sir had given him two extra pills.  Had refused to say what they were or what for.  But Jared has a vague memory of being groggily roused, of being encouraged to walk up a flight of stairs, the sound of a car door slamming.  Not much else.

He doesn’t seem to be tied down and that’s a bit surprising.  The fact that he’s naked is a bit discomfiting, however.

Jared carefully sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed.  A woven rug is beneath his feet, done in shades of red and white and black.  Below that is a smooth wooden floor.  Huge windows let in light through the sheer curtains, late morning if Jared had to judge the time.

Jared strides over to the window, stretching his legs.  He peers around the curtain, taking in an expanse of dark green trees, stretching as far as he can see.  Not another house in sight.

The house he’s in is quiet.  If he had to guess, he’d say he’s alone, but that seems improbable.

He’s free.

For now. 

But he can move.  He can fight.  His head is clear and there’s no drugs muddling his mind. Time to make an escape.

But first things first.

Yes, there is a large bathroom, with soft towels and plentiful soap.  Jared turns on the water, the steamy temperature and strong pressure a far cry from his anemic shower back at his old apartment.  And a world away from a box of baby wipes.  There’s a new safety razor sitting on the counter and a toothbrush, next to a piece of creamy white paper.

Unfolded, the note reads, in familiar dark blue ink, “Clean up.”

Stepping under the spray, Jared stews with resentment.  He wanted a shower, and thanks to the note it seems like he’s following an order.  That stupid voice in his head—be good, do the right thing, it chirps unhelpfully—is killing the pleasure of his first shower in weeks.

“At least it was to the point,” Jared mutters as he shampoos his hair. “No ‘massage the soap into your skin three times counter-clockwise’ or some crap like that.”

There are no clothes in the walk-in closet.  Jared knots the towel around his waist and sets off to explore the house.

The hallway opens out onto a balcony that overlooks the downstairs.  The house is done in the style of a log cabin, but a ridiculously fancy one.  Big windows and broad, round beams.  Everything looks out onto more of the same forest.  If there’s a neighbor they’re not close.

Jared begins to feel uneasy.

Downstairs in the stainless steel kitchen, Jared eagerly approaches the refrigerator.  He’s conscious of how his body has changed in two weeks, the muscles more defined, easier to see under his paler skin.

He’d kill for some chips. Or cake.  Or candy.

Swinging the fridge door open, Jared swallows a scream.  Neat containers lined up, clearly labeled.  Chicken. Fish.  Vegetables.  Brown rice.

There’s nothing else inside.

Fuck, Jared thinks.  Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He pulls out his usual meal and heads over to the kitchen counter, only to be arrested by the sight of a bowl of fresh fruit.  Same crisp paper next to the bowl.

“Treat.” It says.  And beneath that in smaller print and underlined: “Be good.”

There’s nobody around to punch, so Jared takes out his anger on a bright red apple, slashing it savagely with his teeth.

The only sound is the sound of Jared chewing and he finishes his meal all too soon.  A banana beckons, and he starts to reach for it, then pulls back his hand.  It’s not just because two snacks might not be allowed.

He has no idea how long this food is supposed to last.  He’s not locked up, but something tells him leaving isn’t going to be easy.

Afterwards, Jared explores the house, considering his options for escape.  No car in the garage.  No shoes or clothes in any of the closets.  No phones.  No computers.  No obvious weapons, although Jared’s certain he might find something in the kitchen that would serve.

In the living room, he finds a small container, the type a senior citizen might use to store their daily pills.  Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.  He opens a small compartment.  The same two pills he’s been taking for two weeks.  The accompanying note simply says: “For bedtime.”

To hell with all of this, Jared thinks.  It’s just his cell, on a larger, more luxurious level. At any rate, he’s not staying any longer.  He’s not too proud to hoof it out of here in just a towel if he has to. 

As he heads for the front door, Jared nearly steps on another note placed in front of the door.

It says: “Be good.  Wait for me.”

“Like hell I will,” Jared snarls.  Five swear words.  He has no idea if he’s being watched, observed, but he’s been keeping count.  Even more incentive to get the fuck out of here.

He opens the door.

A rutted, rocky road leads out into the woods.  No sidewalks.  No street signs.  No telephone poles or barking dogs.  Jared’s a city boy born and bred.  He has no idea where he is, or how long it will take for him to walk to…somewhere.

With no clothes, money or shoes.

The open door brings a gust of wind and raises gooseflesh on Jared’s exposed skin.

“Wait” suddenly doesn’t seem like a bad idea at all.


	7. Shut In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated, so please peruse before proceeding.

Ridiculous.  It's utterly ridiculous.

The door’s unlocked.  There could be a café or a gas station just down the road.  A town with a Main Street and a police station.  At minimum, a post office with an out of date pay phone.

But Jared doesn't want to go outside.

It’s not the note.  It’s not.

Jared hesitates for a moment on the porch, then goes back inside the house, locking the door behind him.  He’s just going to take some time to collect himself, that’s all.  Just figure out a plan.

He goes back and checks the lock again, just once more for good measure.

A wise person wouldn't just set out unprepared, Jared tells himself, as he heads back upstairs into the bedroom.  There’s the need for food, water, protection from the elements. He strips a pillow case off the bed for a makeshift food sack, and creates a toga from the top bed sheet.  A quick glance as he passes the large mirror in the bathroom confirms it: He looks like a frat boy version of Santa Claus.

There’s not much else in the bedroom.  Jared checks among the covers and on the floor, but his plastic bag with Master’s shirt in it isn't there.  He wants it and he’s weak for wanting it.

Jared wanders around a bit, checking out the other rooms a bit more thoroughly.  Not procrastinating, just…canvasing for supplies.  Most rooms are empty, baring one or two large pieces of furniture.  A desk but no office chair.  A bureau in an otherwise empty bedroom.  No small pieces, or anything that would indicate the ownership of the home, such as picture frames or knickknacks.

Downstairs, he eats a banana as he piles food into the pillow case sack.  There’s bottled water in the pantry, and he tosses in a few of those as well, stomach churning as he gets closer and closer to “ready.”

It’s not like he was dropped into the wilds of Alaska with a National Geographic camera crew.  The house has electricity and running water.  That means civilization is close by.

From the living room, French doors lead to a wooden deck with a built-in barbeque, and stairs leading down to a small open lawn, hewed out of the surrounding forest.  Two Adirondack chairs, weathered a silvery gray, have been sunk down into the middle of the lawn.  If Jared wanted to, he could sit outside for a minute, feel the sun on his skin.

He has the door open and one bare foot on the porch before he ducks back inside.  What if the door locks behind him?

Jared sinks down next to the doors, panting slightly, and decides he may have a bit of a problem.  All things considered, yes, he’s perhaps a bit traumatized.  Outside is fresh air and freedom.  Outside is a gun at his back and a rough hand at his elbow, being hustled into a waiting car.

He buries his face in his knees and indulges in a few hot, humiliated tears as he realizes he’s afraid to leave, he’s afraid to be alone, and he wishes that somebody, anybody, was with him to help him cope.

“Oh, love,” Jared can almost hear his father whisper and it just makes him cry harder.

He’s been on his own for several years now.  He’s used to it.  It’s not like he doesn’t know how to take care of himself. His father was never the type to control Jared or to be overprotective.  Jared can do laundry and file his taxes, apply for a job and find his own apartment, like any other young adult.

This neediness, this craving for someone else to take charge, wracks Jared with shame.  Yes, he has every reason to fall apart right now.  But he shouldn’t.

If he doesn’t get it together, things are probably going to get worse.

Over the next several hours, Jared makes a few more abortive attempts to leave.  He can’t get his hand off the door handle.  It’s embarrassing and infuriating, how scared he is of something so simple.  For all he knows there’s someone just around the bend, a five minute walk away.

For all he knows that someone is Mark.

Jared curls up on the big bed upstairs until the light coming in the windows turns golden and evening approaches.  There’s nothing to do, anyway.  There’s no TV or books or Internet.  Just Jared lying apathetically across the sheets, thinking self-loathing thoughts.

With darkness comes a new problem.  Jared gets up, heart pounding a bit, and turns on every light in the house.  He then thinks about all that light, shining out of the big windows, a beacon to, well, anybody.  He turns most of them off, and retreats again to the bedroom.

It’s too late now to try to leave.  Only an idiot would stumble down the road in the dark, Jared tells himself as he eats another bland meal and rewards his cowardice with another piece of fruit.

He puts the food back in the refrigerator.  He can always repack his pillow case tomorrow, and try, try again.

Check the locks.  Check them one, two, three times.  Retreat back upstairs.

There’s no clock to tell Jared the time.  No Sir appearing with a protein shake and Jared’s pills.  He’s not sleepy, but Jared makes another trip downstairs to retrieve the pill box from the living room.  Just in case.  There’s a flash of movement in the backyard and Jared drops to his stomach on the carpet, skin wet with clammy sweat.

He crawls to the doors and peers out.

There’s a stag grazing on the lawn, its rack of antlers heavy and majestic and Jared’s never seen one this close.  Never seen a deer outside of a zoo or a book.  Moonlight paints the animal in shades of gray and black.  The stag nibbles on the grass, unconcerned, tail flicking slightly, and Jared smiles and settles down to watch for a while.

It’s the most “not alone” he’s been all day.

An hour later, he’s calmer, his eyes are drooping and he’s ready to call it a day.

He heads back upstairs, a stir of irritation at Sir for being absent.  He was caring for Jared and it doesn’t mean anything, that care, which was generally rote and mechanical.  It’s not like they had any sort of relationship. 

Jared can’t help wishing for that brush of a touch, a single fingertip tracing his jaw.

He can’t help wishing for the smell of Master, permeating soft cotton, pressed tight to his nose.

So there’s no one present to force Jared to take his pills and he waffles, holding the little tablets in his palm, considering the pros and cons.  Taking them might mean Jared is less alert should anyone break in at night.  But taking them also means Jared won’t be jumping at every little sound, unable to sleep from anxiety.

Taking them means no nightmares.

 

***

 

The rutted, dirt road is hell on Jensen’s sleek black car and he grits his teeth as yet another large pebble is flung up from the road to strike the bottom of the car with a sharp, irritating sound.  A recent flood and homeowner neglect have made the route nearly impassable.

Jensen should have rented an SUV.

The house appears around the bend, tucked in among the large, dark trees, a mansion playing dress up as a little log cabin.  A rich bastard’s version of “roughing it.”

The rich bastard is dead, and ownership of the house is currently in limbo, as his second wife and his eldest daughter fight over the estate.

It’s not to Jensen’s taste, but it will have to serve.  At least it fits his requirement of “isolated,” even though it’s surrounded by hateful trees and annoying bugs and other wretched critters.

There’s a light gleaming faintly from an upstairs room and Jensen hesitates for a moment.  The garage door makes a low but significant sound when opened and if Jared is still awake at this late hour…

Jensen decides to take the risk.  There’s no way he’s leaving his beloved car outside to be defiled by the raccoons and squirrels.

And this is the problem with “winging it,” Jensen thinks irritably as he pulls his car smoothly into the bay.  He likes to know what’s going to happen.  No surprises.  Surety.  A plan.

Half the items on his list aren’t completed.  And several others he thought he had a handle on Tim has told him are unnecessary or worse, “wrong.”

The door to the garage is locked and Jensen turns his key and then steps inside. The house inside is cool and dark and neat.  Jensen pads to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, moving softly in his loafers, eyes alert.  But there’s no movement or sound.  No one comes rushing out of the dark to tackle him or to tediously demand answers.  He does a quick security check of the downstairs, but everything seems reasonably secure.   He’s not a big fan of all the large glass windows.

Jensen considers the possibility that Jared decided to try and walk out.  Difficult, but not impossible.  The nearest town is twenty miles down the road, just a bit off the highway.

But Tim bet him fifty dollars that Jared would still be in the house. 

The door to the master bedroom is locked but Jensen reaches up to thumb the little piece of metal off the top of the door frame and pushes it into the locking mechanism.  The small click of the lock is audible, and Jensen eases the door open slowly, making sure not to lead with his head. 

No need to worry.  Jared is tucked up in the bed, face turned toward the door, slack with sleep, light snores issuing from his open mouth.  He’s much in the same curled position as he was after their first scene, comically trying to make his large frame small, and Jensen smiles with an emotion somewhat approximating tenderness.

Then he sees the pill case open on the nightstand and his smile grows wider.  This is a plan he can work with.

“Hi,” Jensen whispers as he comes closer.  He might sound shy and a bit goofy but Jared isn’t awake to hear.  He traces a finger over Jared’s pink mouth, darting in to quickly rub against Jared’s tongue and Jared winces and smacks his lips, shifting slightly in his sleep.  But he doesn’t rouse.

Easy enough for Jensen to lock the door and shift out of his clothes, climbing nimbly into the bed.  He slides up behind Jared, pressing skin to skin, then stifles a laugh as Jared sighs and seems to melt backwards into him.

Touch starved, indeed.  What isn’t Tim right about?

Jared is bare beneath the sheet and Jensen has plenty of leeway to indulge himself.  He’s sure there will be shouting in the morning, perhaps some punches thrown, when Jared is lucid.

But right now he’s warm and lax and so very available to Jensen’s touch.

Jensen lets his fingers drift across Jared’s body, relearning every inch of the other man’s skin.  That big, strong body is now weak and defenseless under his grasp. His hand whispers down Jared’s flank, causing Jared to shift and murmur.  Ticklish.  Jensen reaches up to softly pluck a nipple and Jared sighs.  Still so responsive.

Jensen wraps his palm around Jared’s cock and his pet pushes his hips back and moans.

It’s an imperfect moment.  Jensen wants to bite and grip the rich tanned flesh.  To slick his fingers and cock and force his way inside Jared.  To see the fear and arousal in his pet’s eyes.

But all this will have to wait until Jared is awake and aware.

Right now his pet is sleeping and vulnerable beneath him and he intends to keep it that way.

Missing Jared had been like a fever.  A constant distraction but he can now focus all his attention. Jensen’s cock aches, the tip wet and leaking. He settles it between Jared’s thighs and begins to thrust, small short strokes, sweat and pre-come easing his movement.  He buries his nose at the nape of Jared’s neck, gently licking at the salty skin of Jared’s back and shoulders, enjoying the scent and taste he wasn’t sure he accurately remembered.  Beneath him, his sleeping pet twitches.

It doesn’t take long, but Jensen has no one to impress, nothing to prove.  Only a wanting that seems like forever. He comes quickly, wet heat spurting between Jared’s thighs and spattering his pet’s balls.  He yawns and then smiles a bit in satisfaction as he withdraws. 

All the mess is up in front.

Under his hand, Jared’s cock is hard and twitching.  The other man moans a bit in his sleep, hips still circling restlessly.  Perhaps he was as hungry, as needy as Jensen had been. Jensen tightens his grip, sliding his hand up and down Jared’s length, strong and sure movement.

Jared shivers and whimpers in Jensen’s grasp.  His cock jerks in Jensen’s hand and then he’s coming in heavy spurts, painting the sheets, a confused “no” issuing sleepily from his mouth.

“Shh,” Jensen soothes and Jared’s eyes flicker open briefly, there’s the slightest expression of confusion, alarm, before they settle tiredly closed.

“Mmm.”

“Go back to sleep,” Jensen whispers and Jared does, snuggling backwards, one hand reaching out to pull Jensen’s arm around his shoulders, as if by instinct.

Jensen settles down behind his pet, sets his mental alarm clock for 6 am, and quickly falls asleep.


	8. Good Morning Sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short, but I'm still on vacation. :)

Spending weeks in Sir's basement was a bit too much like the movie "Groundhog Day."

The worst possible rendition of "Groundhog Day," if Jared's being brutally honest. Eat, shit, sleep, repeat in a cold, dingy basement, going out of his mind with loneliness and fear, cycling over and over again.

So when Jared wakes up for a second time in a warm, clean, bright room, he's delighted.

True, there's no Andie MacDowell next to him, he's alone, but he feels even better than the first day. Soon, the avalanche of doom known as reality will crash down on him, but in these first, precious moments of waking up, he can stretch in the crisp sheets and luxuriate in the fantasy that he's on some all expenses paid vacation.

The sheets are sticking to him. What the actual fuck?

Jared tugs gingerly on the cloth, wincing as he separates his junk from the sheet with a painful pull. There's the consistency of glue and the scent of bleach and yup, that's come.

No wonder Jared's feeling great. Perfect time to have his first wet dream since he was a teenager.

Rubbing his eyes, Jared tries to remember. He has the vague memory of a rough whisper in the dark, hot flesh at his back and a hand stroking him feverishly. A dream about Master. Well, why not? Jared's only been fantasizing about that sonofabitch for nearly a month, placing him in every scenario in every book he was given during his crazy BDSM bootcamp in Sir's basement.

Not surprising. No big deal. A extraction from the sheets and a shower are called for.

But as Jared soaps up and shaves and tries out a whistle that feels too loud even over the rushing water, he can't help but think that it is a big deal.

It wasn't on the list. It wasn't on the list, but Jared suspects that the list might have additions he didn't know about. It wasn't like he was allowed to see the list.

And a lot of what he's read mentioned that he's not supposed to come without his dominant's permission.

"Fuck it,"Jared mutters, then winces. He's not going to feel bad about getting off. He's not a sub. His psycho kidnapper isn't here and he never agreed to anything. He can come when he wants.

Shit, how many swear words is that now?

Washed clean of the scent of sex, Jared knots his towel around his waist and goes to shake out the sheets. He saw a change of linens in one of the closets upstairs, although changing the sheets and making the bed seems like more procrastination. Just an excuse for Jared to stay in the house instead of pulling up his big boy pants and getting the hell out of Dodge.

When he wrenches the top sheet off the bed, something white falls to the floor. Jared picks it up.

A shirt. A white t-shirt, the material too fine and soft to be Hanes. A shirt that upon close inspection is one size smaller than Jared prefers.

As Jared lifts the shirt the scent on it wafts toward him and when it hits his nose his knees nearly buckle. Expensive cologne and sweat.

Master.

Jared presses the shirt to his face and breathes deep. It smells heavenly, calming and arousing all at once. A smile is tugging at his lips before his brain kicks in and his eyes widen.

Where did it come from?

Fuck. Is someone in the house?

Heart pounding, Jared makes his breathing shallow and listens.

Nothing. Nothing but his own panicked breathing.

The shirt means Master--or perhaps Sir, but Jared doubts it--has been in the house. Walking around and doing who knows what while Jared was sleeping the drugged sleep of a coward. Doing who knows what...

Jared frowns. He begins to have a sneaking suspicion that his wet dream was not a dream.

Rat bastard kidnapping rapist.

Anger is building in his gut. This is it. Jared's not drugged or restrained and they're having it out. He's getting a ride home and a set of clothes and probably a sore hand from punching that smug asshole's face in like fifty times.

The anger and indignation is a balm, a cushion against Jared's anxiety. He jerks the t-shirt on--clothes are clothes, and he feels better confronting this situation in more than a towel--strides to the door and yanks it open.

Bacon?

Stepping out into the catwalk of the hallway, Jared has a clean view of the kitchen below. He can see the back of a familiar blond head as Master stands before the large steel range, pans clattering faintly. The smell of cooking breakfast is drifting up through the house and Jared actually has to wipe drool from his face before he can shut his watering mouth and clear his throat loudly.

"Ahem. Hey. I said, hey!"

Below him, Master turns, looks up, and smiles. Same beautiful full mouth and wide, innocent eyes. Jared watches as his tormentor turns to deftly flip a piece of French Toast.

"Good morning," Jensen says casually. "Did you sleep well?"


	9. Strengths and Weaknesses

Jared is beautiful in the morning light, Jensen thinks idly, lowering the flame on the stove’s burner. He takes a minute to appreciate the view, cataloguing every precious inch of his prize, a list of Jared’s physical qualities that unfolds only in his mind, not on paper. He’s never seen his pet in the light of day, brown hair a messy halo around Jared’s face, the sun picking up glints of gold. From Jensen’s perspective, Jared is a towering giant on the second level, broad shoulders and chest heaving slightly, drawing the eye. He’s paler and leaner than Jensen remembers, but with a hectic pink flush dashed over his cheekbones, nostrils flaring rapidly like an angry bull…

Flushed cheeks. Heaving chest. Flared nostrils. Riiight.

His pet is pissed.

“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Jensen says, just to see Jared’s face tighten even further, lips pressed together as if he’s holding in the force of his rage along with his breath.

“You!” Jared explodes.

“Yes, me,” Jensen replies, turning back to the stove. He listens to Jared thunder down the stairs towards the kitchen as he swiftly plates his meal. There’s no need to ruin good food on the off chance that Tim is wrong about everything and Jared is going to knock him into next week.

Jensen turns around just as Jared barrels into the kitchen space and stops short a few feet away. Sucking in a quick breath, Jensen drops his hands to his sides, lets a faint smile come to his lips. Lust and anticipation tighten his stomach. Jared’s nipples are doing their level best to break free of the confines of the thin white t-shirt Jensen left on the bed for him. Jensen struggles slightly to keep his poker face, to keep eye contact with his furious pet.

“I’m ought to punch that smirk off your face.”

“You won’t,” Jensen counters smoothly. “It’s not in your nature.”

“You don’t know jack about me,” Jared snarls, but his stance is defensive, his fists clenched in a way that suggests he’s ready to ward off a blow, not strike first. “You think I can’t take you?”

“I’m sure you can,” Jensen replies, and then scoops up his plate and strides away towards the table just off the kitchen, already set for one, complete with a steaming coffee carafe and a blue and white china mug. Obviously expecting violence, Jared stares after him, face confused.

“However,” Jensen continues, seating himself and shaking his napkin into his lap. “You won’t. You’re the kind of guy that finishes the fight, not starts it. You’ve got a temper, but a good leash on it. Self-control. A very positive trait.”

“Let me go!”

“I don’t see any restraints,” Jensen says lightly, lifting a piece of bacon and crunching into it. “You know where the door is. You’ve had ample time to leave.”

Jared drifts closer, body still trembling with agitation. There’s this look on his face, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t think of how to express it.

His eyes also keep darting towards Jensen’s plate in a guilty, distracted way and Jensen hides his smile behind his napkin as he dabs grease off his lips.

“It’s not that simple,” Jared mutters finally.

“No, it’s not,” Jensen concedes. He lifts the coffee pot and pours himself a steaming cup. He has to hide another grin behind the lip of the cup as the scent of coffee wafts through the room and Jared’s eyes nearly glaze over at the smell.

“You kidnapped me,” Jared accuses.

“Yes, I suppose I did,” Jensen says, sipping his drink. Here it is: the place where truth and lie intersect. How much to tell Jared, the best way to spin the situation. He keeps his tone playful, humorous. “I did have a brief moment where I considered bringing you home and locking you in my sex torture dungeon.”

“You did lock me in a dungeon!”

“Basement,” Jensen corrects. “And it was for your own good. You do realize you pissed off the Pellegrino crime family. They weren’t going to just let you walk away.”

“So you’re solution was to drug me and imprison me? Why didn’t you take me to the police?!”

“I’m in a sensitive line of work,” Jensen replies. “I generally don’t involve law enforcement in anything I do, not if I can help it. Regardless, I saved you. You’re welcome.”

“Fuck you!”

“Language,” Jensen murmurs and then wonders if he’s pushed too far. Rage and panic chase each other across Jared’s features, and Jensen thinks he might end up punched after all.

“Look,” Jared says finally, gritting his teeth. “Can I just get a ride home? I’ll forget this entire messed up experience and just get on with my life. You can pretend to be a concerned citizen and I’ll pretend that you didn’t just put me through bad BDSM boot camp for your own sick purposes.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?” Jared shouts.

“Well first of all, you don’t have a home,” Jensen replies, watching Jared’s face crumple in recognition. “It burned down, remember? I thought that was a bit odd, Mark Pellegrino drawing attention like that, so I did some research. Wasn’t him. Just bad timing. Your upstairs neighbor’s sleazy ex firebombed her apartment.”

“Jesus,” Jared mutters.

“Indeed. So, your apartment’s a crater. Sorry about that.”

“I don’t think you’re sorry about any of this.”

There’s more truth to that than Jensen would ever admit, so he just shrugs and cuts into his French toast.

“And the second reason is that the Pellegrinos are still looking for you,” Jensen continues. “The basement was the best I could do. Throw them off your scent by laying low. I’m not too keen on driving you down Main Street and basically handing you over. Not after everything I’ve done to keep you safe.”

Jared’s face drains of color. Fear seems to be winning over anger, and Jensen can’t help being pleased that the bulk of the fear isn’t directed at him.

Jared needs a boogeyman to convince him to stay. A monster under the bed. That the threat is real is just an unfortunate aspect.

Jensen eats and sips coffee and watches Jared struggle with himself. Jared’s initial concern appears to have been Jensen, the danger of being held against his will in bondage. Being hunted by the mob trumps kinky sex slave any day of the week.

Especially with Jensen doing his best to present himself as a harmless pervert.

“Fine,” Jared says finally. He puts on a brave face, but Jensen has seen his pet panicking. He knows what it looks like. “Just give me some clothes and cash and drop me at a bus depot.”

“Nope.”

“Ugh! Why not?”

“Besides the fact that you’re a hunted man? I just don’t want to,” Jensen says honestly. “It’s not in my best interest to help you leave. I want you to stay.”

“Look,” Jared begins. “I think you owe me—“

“I’ve been providing you with food, clothing, shelter, safety,” Jensen counters. “I’ve paid you back in spades for my…small transgression.”

Jensen watches as his pet’s face flushed an angry brick-red.

“Are you talking about the first time you raped me…or are you talking about last night?”

A better, guiltier person might express something like shame or regret, but Jensen isn’t going to apologize. It just isn’t in him to do so.

And he doesn’t regret it. Any of it.

“I’m an amoral man, Jared,” Jensen says simply. “I’ll never deny that. But I’ve had your best interests at heart.”

“The hell you have!”

“If you want to walk out of here, you can. But I won’t be helping you at all. I want you to stay. I have a proposition for you.”

“And I can just guess what it is. Look, I’m a bartender, not Julia Roberts. No thank you.”

“You’re unemployed,” Jensen reminds him and watches as another hit scores and Jared’s eyes go shiny with unshed tears.

“I’ll be okay,” Jared mutters. “I always land on my feet.”

“Don’t you even want to hear what my proposition is?”

“I read your sex manuals. I have a pretty good idea. I’ll pass.”

“Jared,” Jensen says patiently. “You have no job, no home, and there are people out there that want to kill you. I think you can listen to my suggestion. You have the time.”

“Fine,” Jared answers, folding his arms. “Go ahead. Sell me a time-share.”

“I…” Jensen flounders a bit. It’s not because he’s ashamed of what he wants. He isn’t. Never has been. But what he wants is standing right before him and the moment is so huge. Everything he’s ever desired is riding on this moment. This is when his plan either comes together or falls apart.

Jared’s face softens a bit. “What is it you want?”

Jensen blinks. How is he coming across right now? Shy? A bit awkward? Arousing Jared’s compassion wasn’t his intent, but he’ll use it.

“I want to pay you to come home with me,” Jensen says in a rush. “A personal assistant position. You can even put me on your resume. You’ll be paid handsomely.”

“You want to have sex with me,” Jared replies quietly.

“I want you on your knees,” Jensen answers truthfully, because Jared seems to respond best to the blunt hammer of reality. “I want you tied up and suffering for me. I want to torture you and make you bleed and cry and come. I want to scare you and hurt you and make you hate it and love it at the same time. I want to hear you scream for me to stop and know that I don’t have to. That’s what I want.”

“And choke me,” Jared adds, voice a strained whisper.

“God, yes.” Jensen’s dick throbs in his pants just thinking about it. His tie around Jared’s neck. A mask on Jared’s face.

Jared stares at him. He stares for a long time. It’s quiet in the house, so quiet that Jensen can hear the slight buzz of the refrigerator, the chirps of birds outside and the wind rustling through the trees just beyond the clear, wide windows.

Finally Jared says, “I can’t do that.”

It takes all his willpower, but Jensen refrains from pouncing on his pet and wrestling him into submission. Patience is needed here. Patience and cunning.

Jared is still here, still here in the house that he could have left at any time. True, Jensen didn’t make it easy, but it could have been done. Jared could have walked out.

He’s still here for a reason.

“Look, just give me a ride,” Jared mutters.

“No,” Jensen says firmly. “I told you what I want. I want you to stay and be mine. Be my employee. Be my slave and my pet. I’m not helping you leave.”

“Fine,” Jared sighs and for a moment Jensen thinks Jared will stalk away, perhaps gather up some things and head out the door. Then his pet’s eyes shift back to Jensen’s plate, and a faint but sullen smile quirks Jared’s lips. “The least you can do is let me have some of your breakfast.”

“Okay,” Jensen says amiably. But he gently draws his plate away when Jared reaches for it, making his pet blink in confusion. Jensen forks up a small bite of French toast and holds it out.

“I can feed myself.”

Independence. Pride. These are traits Jensen can also work with. Despite Jared’s self-reliant demeanor, Jensen has a suspicion his pet will respond quite well to being nurtured.

“My breakfast, my rules. Otherwise you can get one of your meals out of the refrigerator.”

“Blech. No thanks.”

“Your meals are all perfectly balanced and organic. Do you have any idea how much it cost to keep you fed these past weeks?”

Something like guilt drifts across Jared’s face before he narrows his eyes and says, “Nice try. Maybe don’t kidnap a person if your bank account can’t handle it.”

Guilt can be a motivator then. Jensen files this information away on his mental list of ways to crack Jared open. Then he smiles sheepishly and lifts the fork like a peace offering.

“C’mon. Open your mouth.”

Jared blinks again and just when Jensen thinks he won’t do it he opens his mouth. Jensen slides the fork in between Jared’s pink lips and swallows hard as he watches his pet suck the food off the fork, eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh man,” Jared purrs and the sound goes right to Jensen’s cock. Lashes fluttering open, Jared catches Jensen looking at him and blushes in confusion.

“More?”

“This feels…this feels like…”

“It is,” Jensen confirms. “But it’s not quite right. You shouldn’t be standing above me. You should be on your knees at my feet.”

“I don’t want to do this.”

“Then don’t,” Jensen challenges. “Go eat your own food. No one is forcing you to do anything.”

Not yet.

Jensen watches his pet stew silently, then raises the fork.

“If you want it, open your mouth.”

A moment of internal struggle and then Jared reluctantly opens his mouth, and Jensen reaches out to slide the fork across his pet’s tongue. He watches Jared chew, swallow, his throat working, and every tiny movement innocently alluring. His lips are glossy with syrup.

“More?”

“Yes…thank you.”

It should be _Thank you, Master_ , but Jensen doesn’t push. He presses another bite inside Jared’s mouth.

They’ll get there. Eventually.


	10. Patience, Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really hard to write a twisty, dark story with near constant house guests. Sorry all my updates are hella delayed.

In a perfect world, Jensen thinks, Jared would be magically swayed by the taste of Jensen’s French toast, by Jensen’s calm explanation of how the world should work, by Jensen’s own animal magnetism. Jared would drop to his knees, one lean thigh emerging from the split of his skimpy towel, hands behind his back, eyes lambent and adoring as he opens his pink mouth for anything Jensen wants to put inside it. No work needs to be done, no schemes to be made. Just Jared, seeing the world as Jensen does, knowing the place he belongs is on his knees at Jensen’s feet.

  
Too bad the world is far from perfect.

  
Jensen’s not that good of a cook. His French toast is decent, not manna from heaven. And although he knows he can be persuasive, clever, he isn’t too sure about his animal magnetism. True, people do look at him, and often. But he pays for sex and companionship most days. The jaded and practiced gaze of a prostitute isn’t the best gauge of his appeal.

  
Ugh. Down this path lies the bones of pathetic people with low self-esteem, Jensen thinks. He shakes himself mentally.

  
So after a few bites of breakfast, Jared doesn’t drop to his knees in a submissive swoon. Instead he frowns, straightens and backs away, and heads to the refrigerator. A retreat, Jensen suspects. Jared eats his boxed meal standing mute and stiff beside the breakfast bar, doesn’t come over to the table, doesn’t engage.

  
It’s fine. Jensen has a solid plan, although constantly evolving. He has time.

  
And Jared could have gone into another room. He didn’t. His pet doesn’t want to be alone.

  
Patience.

  
After breakfast Jensen cleans the kitchen methodically, whistling, the very picture of a man relaxing on a quiet vacation in the woods. No nefarious plot here, no sir. Let Jared make the next move.

  
Let his pet come to him.

  
Jared isn’t idle, not while Jensen wipes down frying pans and loads the dishwasher. Jared disappears upstairs for a time, and then comes back down with a pillow case. His lean face is both nervous and defiant as he loads up his makeshift sack with food and water.

  
Ah, the escape attempt commences, Jensen thinks. His stomach tightens a bit with nerves.

  
Tim had better be right about Jared’s phobias.

  
Jensen hears the front door open. Pause. The door closes. The lock turns. Then turns again to unlock. The door opens. Pause. The door closes.

Lock. Unlock. Open. Pause. Close.

  
As this goes on for the next ten minutes, Jensen has to press his fist over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

  
Poor, traumatized baby.

  
A moment later the front door slams with force and Jared stalks by, face red and mutinous. Jensen schools his features to inoffensive pleasantness.

  
“Problem?”

  
Jared stalks up the stairs, stomping as loud as he can in bare feet. The upstairs bedroom door slams.

  
Jensen shrugs and wanders out to the garage to bring in more of his things. He has a small satchel, a duffle full of clothes, his laptop. There’s a bag full of this and that to try on Jared, but Jensen leaves it locked in the trunk for the moment along with his clothes and weapon.

  
Patience.

  
Following his plan, Jensen settles in to enjoy his day. He strips down to a t-shirt, applies a bit of sunscreen to the tip of his nose, and settles in with his sunglasses and his e-reader on the back patio. His Russian is getting a bit rusty; now’s as good a time as ever to practice using the undemanding format of a short, modern novel.

  
Jensen senses Jared moving around in the house behind him, even though he can’t hear or see him. He has no doubt Jared will investigate his satchel—a boring collection of toiletries and other impersonal items—and perhaps try to open his laptop—password protected. It’s fine. Let him try, Jensen thinks.

  
A little isolation will only remind Jared that Jensen is the only human contact he has right now.

  
An hour later Jensen strolls back into the house. The BBQ grill looks a bit dusty, but useable. The propane tank has been left and is partially full. Jensen has some ribs marinating in the refrigerator. Now might be a good time to tempt Jared with some more palatable food.

  
Jared is sitting on the couch, big shoulders slumped, face buried in his hands.

  
Jensen sits down, beside him, leaving a calculated bit of distance. “Are you okay?”

  
“What do you care?” Jared mutters.

  
“I care a lot,” Jensen answers. He puts his hand lightly on Jared’s shoulder, feels the other man lean in to the touch. “I’ve been upfront about that.”

  
“I can’t leave.”

  
“I’m sorry.”

  
“No you’re not. Please, please drive me home.”

  
“I’m not doing anything to put you in danger,” Jensen responds. He kneads the rounded, tense muscle of Jared’s shoulder, hears Jared’s breathy sigh. “And I’m not doing anything to go against my best interests. I want you.”

  
“I hate this,” Jared whispers bitterly. “I hate this and I hate you.”

  
“I’m sure you do,” Jensen says soothingly, and makes his face as bland as possible when Jared shoots him a suspicious glare. “But to be honest, if I drove you…wherever, what would you do? You have no home. I can’t just leave you alone on a street corner, no money, no real clothes, barefoot and exposed, a stationary target.”

  
Jared’s breath hitches.

  
“Do you have a friend you could stay with?” Jensen asks innocently. “Family?”

  
“Yeah,” Jared shoots back. “Yeah, I do!”

  
“People you’re willing to put at risk?”

  
Jared scrubs his face. “You’re one smooth bastard, you know that right?”

  
“I have a proposal.”

  
“Duh. Not interested.”

  
“Think of it as an audition. A job interview of sorts. I’m here on vacation for the next week or so. You've having a difficult time...leaving. Why don’t you try it out?”

  
Jared’s brow crinkles. “Try out what? Try out being your sex slave?”

  
“Personal assistant,” Jensen corrects smoothly. Jared’s flesh is warm through the t-shirt, warm under his hand. Everything he wants, only inches away. “We can write up a contract, what you’re willing to do or not do. You can try it out. No pressure.”

  
“You’re holding me hostage,” Jared says sarcastically. “No pressure.”

  
“Don’t play the victim,” Jensen shoots back, voice disapproving and stern. He watches Jared wilt a bit under his tone, uncertain in the face of Jensen’s mild censure. “You can walk out of here. I’ve been honest with you. Try it. You might like it.”

  
Jared’s pretty eyes shift away. Jensen can almost hear the cogs turning in his pet’s mind.

  
“And if I don’t like it?”

  
“I’ll drive you home,” Jensen lies, smiling gently.

  
“Just like that, huh?”

  
“Just like that. I’m may be a bit evil—“ Jared snorts at that, “—but I’m a man of my word. Besides, I think you’ll stay. That you’ll like it.”

  
“Think you’re that irresistible?”

  
“No,” Jensen says kindly. He smoothes his hand down Jared’s arm, then back up. Watches Jared respond to his touch. “I think I know you. Who you are. What you like. What you need. I can give it to you.”

  
The moment the words are out of his mouth, Jensen realizes they’re too much. Jared’s uncertain eyes become hard, angry. He stands, shrugging out from under Jensen’s touch.

  
“I don’t need anything,” Jared says stiffly. He stalks away.

  
Oops. A bit of a misstep there. Jensen files the information away. His pet: sensitive, compassionate, guilty and needy.

  
Proud and independent.

  
He can work with that.

  
Jensen smiles. He goes to make himself a sandwich. The ribs can wait for a time when Jared is more receptive.

  
He has the time.


	11. Name Your Fear

Dangerous.

Master--that guy, Jared's kidnapper, is dangerous.

Jared reminds himself of this fact over and over as he skulks around the house, avoiding...him. Mr. Whatever-his-name. Such a big house feels ridiculously small when Jared tries his best to be nonchalant about avoiding the only other occupant. And--who is he kidding--staying close enough so as not to feel overwhelmed and alone.

It's been weeks since Jared has had any interaction with anyone except Sir. Loneliness shouldn't feel this awful.

Pathetic is what it is, Jared thinks as well, but he's already beating himself up because it's so hard--stupid--to just walk out the front door. Jared's chest is already tight with the stress of trying to stay in permanent fight-or-flight mode. At times he tucks his nose to his shoulder and sniffs at the scent lingering on the shirt, a cowardly desire for comfort. But the stink of sweat and fear from Jared's body is slowly wiping that aroma away.

It's hard for Jared to stay cautious and alert when his kidnapper is walking around without a care in the world. Rather like being dropped into a tiger's cage expecting to be devoured, and finding that the tiger would much rather play with its appropriately sized cat toys.

For someone who so passionately swore he wanted to get in Jared's pants, Master is doing a good job faking disinterest.

As if Jared actually had pants. Jared snorts. Towel.  Wants to get into his towel.

That's what this is. Faking. Don't be an idiot, Jared reminds himself. This is the guy that tortured you, raped you, drugged you and kidnapped you. It doesn't matter if he says he thought it was just a game. Anything Master did from that night forward was deliberate, Jared knows. The basement, Sir, the drugs, this house. The moment Jared thinks any of this is altruism--that Master is some concerned citizen--is the minute he's truly lost.

Nothing is free. And the last person Jared truly trusted died quietly in his sleep, tearing a hole in Jared's world with that one simple, banal act. It's up to Jared to figure this out and get out of the situation. He's on his own, as he has been and may always be.

And God, Jared thinks desperately, that must be the most depressing thought ever. He knuckles away a few escaping tears as he tries to push past this sniveling wimp he's become. He can do this. He can. By himself, alone. Somehow.

And the first thing that needs to stop is this 'Master' shit. Jared can see how just the name puts him in the wrong mindset, makes him look to his kidnapper for reassurance. Jared tries to push the name out of his mind, again and again, but his thoughts circle back around. Because how easy would it be if Jared just let someone else take control. Give him the comfort and direction he can feel he desperately needs. Soothe away the shaking and the fear. It would be all too easy to just give in.

Watching discretely from behind the curtain on the French doors, Jared waits for his kidnapper to make his move. A direct attack Jared could handle. A fight might help soothe the acid eating away at his gut. But Jared's kidnapper is content to wash down the BBQ grill, whistling as he works, as if there isn't a six and a half foot tall, barely clothed man stalking his every move. The sun filters down through the trees and paints golden streaks on the back of Master's neck, picks up the highlights in his hair. The muscles in Master's back shift as he works, lean lines of strength. Jared realizes that this man who has stripped Jared bare, has put him through the most arousing and humiliating of situations, has never been unclothed before him.

Suddenly Jared is back in that room. Afraid, angry, confused. Master is sitting before him in that leather chair, face a haze in Jared's peripheral view. His voice a low, soothing rasp, heat in the tone but controlled, restrained. Jared's ass is aching and his throat his burning and his eyes strangely focus in on Master's knee, that smooth curve of bone behind those immaculate slacks. He's too far away but Jared wants to press his wet face into Master's leg.

Jesus. Jared snaps back to the present and pushes his hand fretfully at the beginnings of an erection distorting the line of his towel. Get it together, Jared thinks angrily.

The French doors abruptly swing open and Master steps through, not at all surprised to see Jared, although the are nearly nose to nose. Jared shouldn't step back, it's a retreat, weakness, but Master is too close and too warm and Jared backs down, putting space between them.

"Early supper?" Master asks mildly and if he can see the lingering redness of Jared's eyes or the swell under the towel he doesn't remark on it. "It's a beautiful day. Thought I'd sit outside to eat. You're welcome to join me."

Yes. No. God, Jared would love to eat outside under the sky, like he wasn't afraid and none of this had ever happened. There's a humiliating lump building in his throat and he can't answer around it. Can only stand and stare and shake.

"Hey, are you okay?" It's too gentle, Master's tone and the hand reaching to clasp Jared's shoulder is too much of what he wants right now.

It's easy enough to slap that hand away. To finally take action. Jared strikes much harder than he has to, finds his body turning into an aggressive stance easily, chin up, hands up. In that second his kidnapper turns too, chest out, ready to strike back. All that careful concern fading from those green eyes, tension and warning in the tightness of the jaw.

This is it, Jared thinks with relief, finally. They can beat the shit out each other and this awful, awful waiting will stop. And maybe Jared will win, will beat this asshole to the ground. Take the car keys from his pocket and drive back to civilization.

But Master pulls himself back deliberately. Calmly, he steps back, smiles softly, hands palm up. 

"It's up to you," he says and steps past Jared into the kitchen and Jared wants to scream.

Master strolls past on the way back with a plate of ribs, already sweetly scented with spice rub, leaving Jared to shake and stew alone, standing stupidly by the doors. You're not really this stupid, Jared thinks to himself. It's not exactly an apple and a serpent but Jared can see what his kidnapper is doing.

While Master was outside Jared had peeked into the refrigerator, finding it neatly bisected, organized in exactly the way Jared would expect from a guy who makes elaborate lists on fancy paper and wants to control how Jared breathes when he does his sit-ups. One half of the fridge had Jared's boxes of bland food, the other half was stocked with regular, appealing items. Jared had been tempted to reach in and snag a fancy imported beer, if not for the small, crisp notecard taped to the bottle. Taped to every bottle. Taped to all the items. A clean, white slip of paper with the word "mine" written in blue ink.

Mine, mine, mine. Even written on each of the eggs. It should have been hilarious, laughable. But to Jared it felt like a warning.

The only real question is why the word "mine" wasn't written on the tight t-shirt Master left for him.

He hadn't taken anything out of the fridge other than the boxes Jared knew were for him.

Back outside, past the open doors, Master is whistling again, not a care in the world and fuck this is so unfair.

Rather than watch pathetically from the safety of the house, Jared goes back to try to front door again. Maybe there will be some magic combination that allows Jared to step out the door, as if he is held here by an evil spell, by some wizardry, rather than his own fear.

Nope. Not happening. The attempt only ratchets up the tension simmering in Jared's body, prickling his skin. He leans his head against the door and closes his eyes, fights back more tears. It seems the more he tries to stop feeling sorry for himself, the more wetness prickles in his eyes.

God, if somebody would just hold him.

Oh love, whispers the voice in Jared's head and Jared presses it away ruthlessly. He's not going to break down today, not in front of that asshole.

Jared stays by the front door until he's sure he won't start bawling again. Then he drifts back to the French doors, body drawn like a magnet, because there's someone else there and anybody, anybody at all would be preferable to this terrible ache of loneliness.

Jared peeks out the door. The outdoor table--no outdoor chairs--is set for one. Master has brought the kitchen chair outside and placed it before the table setting. Next to it on the deck is a pillow from the couch, just ready for someone to kneel there, sucking sauce from Master's fingers.

The fucker has it all planned out.

Master steps up onto the deck, plate of food in hand. He looks up, catches Jared's eye and smiles.

Rage. Fine, this Jared can work with. He shoves the door all the way open and steps out onto the deck. He's not sure if it's a verbal lashing or a physical fight he's going to deliver.

Two steps out and Jared's eyes jerk up almost without meaning to, taking in the dizzying vault of the blue sky. He's suddenly exposed and disoriented and Jared's heart hammers in his chest, his breathing stutters and he falls to his knees gasping.

Back in, get back in. But he can't see where to go, only the brown wood of the deck beneath him, blurry and too close, Jared flails his arms and legs, trying to move, trying to get away, his breath wheezing and his face hot and stinging.

"Hey!"

Someone is shouting at him, someone is grabbing him, but Jared can't see, can't get away. He strikes out blindly, feels the heel of his hand sing with pain as he hits something solid. He's being gathered up, shuffled back, and Jared can only gasp and struggle, writhing, trying to escape, carpet suddenly under his back, rasping against the bare skin of his legs. There is weight pressing him down, grounding him, and he struggles against it, panting.

"Can't breathe!"

"Yes you can. Calm down."

Master is above him, clear eyes intent, the only thing Jared can focus on. Gathered up and held down, Jared can barely move, can only struggle against the weight of another body. It feels strangely comforting, in the middle of this agonizing fear. He can't drift up and away, buried like this.

"Can't! Can't breathe!"

"You're talking," Master says, voice reasonable, persuasive. "If you couldn't breathe you wouldn't be able to talk. Calm down. Talk to me. Where are you?"

"House. I'm in a house. Can't breathe."

"A house, fine. And who are you with?"

"You," Jared looks up. He's still panting, but things are clearer. It's easier to focus. "The asshole who kidnapped me."

"Too true," Master says, smile amused and presses his body down firmer on Jared's. "What do you see?"

"You." Green eyes, soft mouth.  Beautiful.

"Smell?"

"You. God, you." That woodsy scent is all Jared can breathe.

"Feel?"

"You," Jared whispers and it's clearer and clearer. Master is on top of him, holding him down, and Jared his his arms wrapped around him, holding them close together, pressed tight from chest to toe.

"Breathe. In and out. You're okay. You're safe."

"I'm really not," Jared gasps, confused and miserable and here it comes. The hot deluge of tears embarrassing him, the aftermath. He can suddenly breathe again, he knows what happened--stupid panic attack--and now he's going to cry, even after he promised he wouldn't.

Master smiles, eyes tender. "Go ahead. Let it out. It's okay."

And Jared does. He cries and cries, face pressed into Master's neck. There's indistinct words of comfort and encouragement but it's enough to be pressed down, warm and safe, someone else's arms around him, while Jared falls apart.

Jared cries for a long time.

He's drained and drifting when he lets his head fall back. His face is wrecked and his nose stuffed up, but he lies there limply. Above him, Master smiles even more tenderly, as if the sight of Jared's blotchy wet face is something to admire. Then there's the soft sensation of Master's lips suckling away a tear from Jared's cheek. A small, sipping kiss.

Fuck it, Jared thinks hazily. He's too tired to fight.

Master rains soft kisses down on Jared's cheeks, his open, gasping mouth, the line of his jaw, his chin. Jared lets his body go even limper, legs falling open and to the side, and Master slots between them, pressing them groin to groin and Jared moans softly. His towel had fallen away and Jared can't even be embarrassed by the feeling of his bare skin rubbing against the fabric of slacks.

It feels good. It doesn't hurt, isn't this awful, awful tension building with no where to go. It feels good and Jared doesn't want to think any more.

Slow and easy warmth. Jared returns each kiss, mouth lax and lazy. He lets his hips rise and fall to meet those of the man above him, delicious friction on his cock, this undemanding rutting that requires little thought or action. Jared wraps his arms around his master, pulling him close. Pleasure rises in a slow tide, pulling him under.

There's a hand under Jared's shirt, pushing the fabric up and away, warm fingers stroking at his chest, his side. There's a wet mouth pulling at the side of his neck, raising goosebumps all over his body.

Jared aches his back and gasps and comes.

He's sinking into the floor, boneless and sated, when Master pulls back. Jared watches muzzily as Master pulls his dick from his slacks, face tense and agonized, and stripes his cock kneeling over Jared's supine form. It's vicious and quick and then Master is coming, wet streaks spraying across Jared's stomach, thighs, his spent cock. Hot and then cold. Marking him all over.

This is probably an unwise development, but all Jared can do is drift, calm and unafraid, for the first time in weeks without the help of medication. Jared looks up at Master crouched over him, face flushed and entirely too pleased.

"What's your name?" Jared asks because that's not even the right question. Why and how and when will you let me go, but Jared doesn't want to think.

Master hesitates, and Jared suspects for a minute he won't answer. Why would he? Names have power and right now Master holds all the cards. But the man hovering above Jared shrugs, tucks himself away, and lowers his body back down onto Jared's, heedless of the mess. It's easy enough for Jared to wrap his arms around his master, to sigh into the warmth blanketing him. He's safe and he's not safe. Turn it off for a little while.

"My name is Jensen," Master says and Jared smiles into his neck.

"Nice to meet you," Jared slurs and Jensen laughs and Jared lets himself drift away a bit. To just exist in the moment.


	12. Aftermath

Jensen thinks there isn’t an adjective to describe his current state of being. Sublimely self-satisfied might come close enough to capture the thrill of raw power currently coursing through his veins.

God, he can’t wait until Jared is his completely.  Just the small tastes he’s been given make him hungry for more.

It had been exquisite, feeling Jared surrender, watching him come apart beneath Jensen, defenseless and accepting.  His pet’s face wet with tears and strained with fear and need.  Jensen only hopes he won’t have to trigger a panic attack just to get his pet in the right state of mind.

And the struggle before! Granted, Jared had been too panicked, too desperate, to actually aim his strikes, but it had also been exhilarating.  A fight without too much risk, and then Jared’s surrender, his collapse, actually reaching up to pull his master in closer, to look to Jensen for comfort.

It makes the lucky hit he’d gotten past Jensen’s defenses worth it.

Jensen rubs the tender bridge of his nose.  It’s also an excellent way to hide the smug smile he knows must be lurking around the corners of his mouth.

From his nest on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, Jared narrows his eyes as if he can sense what Jensen is thinking and Jensen forces his face to take on his most placid, innocent expression.

“Need anything?” Jensen asks, tone solicitous and helpful.  Since pulling Jared off the floor and helping him clean up, Jared has retreated somewhat.  Built back up his defenses.  But it’s not the tension-filled desperation Jared was nearly vibrating with before.  It’s calmer, as if surrendering to Jensen was the worst thing that could happen and now it’s over. No, now Jared is calmer, but more thoughtful.  Jensen can almost smell the smoke as the gears churn and whirl in his pet’s mind.

“You know what I need,” Jared replies dully.  Some tissues to clean up and a blanket to wrap up in were all the aftercare he had allowed Jensen to provide.  If Jensen had his way, his pet’s head would be resting in his lap, Jensen’s fingers drifting over those silky brown strands, scrubbing blissfully at Jared’s scalp.

“I do.  A master.”

“A ride home.  But you’re not going to give me that, are you?”

“No.”

“I’m not going to be able to just walk out of here,” Jared says bleakly. “I’m too messed up right now.”

“These panic attacks…this is something new?  Something caused by…your abduction?”

“Are you feeling guilty, or pretending to feel guilty?  I can’t really tell right now,” Jared mutters.

“I’m not feeling guilty.  I make it a habit not to feel guilt, just on general principal.  I was curious.”

Jared sighs. “They’re not new.  But it’s been a while. And never this severe.  I had them a couple years ago.  It was fine.  Made some changes to my life and worked it out on my own.”

“Did you see someone about it?” Jensen asks solicitously.

“No health insurance.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I want you to be honest with me,” Jared says and Jensen schools his face to project guileless concern. “If I never agreed to be your…slave—“

“Personal assistant.”

“Yeah, right.  Whatever.  If I never agreed and then your vacation was over, then what?  You would just leave me here?  You drive off and I just…what, starve to death in this house?  Would you really do that?”

Jensen is quiet.  He hasn’t allowed himself much time to think about the possibility of Jared refusing.  True, he has a backup plan, but one he’d rather not utilize.  It’s much more work than getting Jared to sign on somewhat willingly.

“Wow,” Jared says.  He scrubs his face with a tired hand. “I’m going to pretend your silence is because you were bluffing, not because you’d actually leave me here to die just because I wouldn’t fuck you.”

“I can get sex any time I want,” Jensen replies. “What I want from you is completely different.”

“Hire an escort.”

“I want you.”

“Lucky me.”

“I can make this good for you,” Jensen doggedly persists. “I know the way we met didn’t exactly instill any trust in me—“

“Hah!”

“—but this really isn’t any different than your average job offer.  Money, security, companionship.  These are all good things.”

“Let me think,” Jared mutters tiredly and Jensen subsides.  He gets up and walks over to the fridge, pulls out two beers.  A quick glance over his shoulder proves that yes, Jared is tracking his movements, eyes anxious and needy despite the more cynical show he’s been putting on for Jensen.

“Here,” Jensen says, and hands an opened beer to Jared.

“I can’t drink it,” Jared responds, pointedly flicking a finger against the white label taped to the bottle.

“You have my permission,” Jensen says magnanimously and Jared rolls his eyes.

“DICK’S BEER—DON’T TOUCH,” Jared announces and takes a quick swig.  His lashes flutter with pleasure. “Mmm. I missed that.”

“Dick who?”

It’s from a book.  Story about a boy who wouldn’t share his toys.  You can probably relate.  My dad used to read it with me.”

“Sharing is overrated,” Jensen says.  He didn’t miss the flicker of pain on Jared’s face upon mentioning his father. “What happened to your dad?”

“Died.” Jared shrugs, looking down into his beer. “People do.”

“You were a child when it happened?”

“No.  It was a couple of years ago.  I’m fine.”

“A couple of years ago?  The same time your panic attacks started?”

“Ugh, what do you want?!  A junior detective badge? Yes, he died; I started to have panic attacks, so I quit school.  Now I’m fine.  End of story.”

“You’re not fine.”

“No thanks to you.”

“I’m sorry about your dad,” Jensen says. “My father’s dead, too.”

“Oh.” Jared’s face softens, his eyes wet and compassionate as they latch on to Jensen’s face. “I’m sorry.”

Jensen isn’t.  The son-of-a-bitch had it coming.  But he has a feeling the story of how he killed the low-life sperm donor who left his daft, slightly befuddled mother alone and pregnant at a young age isn’t going to win him any points with Jared.

“It happens,” Jensen says softly. “We carry on.”

“Yeah.”

“He was a good dad?”

“The best,” Jared says, smiling sadly. “He was just…this incredible person.  Quiet and mellow.  Not a pushover, just, I don’t know, zen.  He had a way of making everyone around him feel good.  He was good.”

“You miss him.”

“Oh fuck off,” Jared snaps but he’s smiling a bit. “I’ve already cried my eyes out in front of you once today, isn’t that enough?”

“Of course, I’m sorry.”

They sit in silence for a while, drinking companionably.  It’s nice, Jensen thinks, enjoying the peace and the company, some small part of his brain still chipping away at the best way to use the death of Jared’s father to his own advantage, but his mind is never wholly quiet.  A clearer picture of exactly how Jared relied on his father, the void that Jensen may be able to wedge himself into, would be helpful.  Make his pet dependent on him by sliding into that slot that death left open and aching.

“Okay, so I have a proposition for you,” Jared says into the silence and Jensen raises his head to look Jared in the eye.  His pet’s pretty face is grim and determined, and Jensen realizes his is not the only mind working overtime in that small quiet space.

“Counter offer?”

“Just hear me out,” Jared replies. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you never would have left me here if I said ‘no.’  So here’s what I suggest: drive me to my friend’s house when the week is over.  In exchange…I’ll try.  I’ll try it out when I’m better. Not now. Maybe after I’ve seen a doctor, gotten a new place, a new job.  Your next vacation, when you get time off from your job, we’ll meet up.  Maybe for a weekend or two.  That’s my best offer.  Take it or leave it.”

Jensen steeples his fingers under his chin. “You know, there are aspects of this I rather like.  I’m imagining you on call, waiting for me to contact you, never knowing when.  Dropping everything the minute you get my text, that I’m free, in town.  That I want you.  You walking into the nearest luxury hotel, heart in your throat, dressed the way I’ve specified, to please me.  Feeling like all eyes are on you, like everyone must know what’s going to happen although they can’t possibly.  A key left at the front desk, just for you.  Then you in a dark room, kneeling on plush carpet, eyes down, head down, waiting for me to come and bend you to my will.”

Jared flushes a dull red.  He looks even more beautiful, Jensen thinks idly, stormy-eyed with unwilling desire.  Jensen knows he’s not in this alone.  However Jared feels about what happened to him, he did find it pleasurable.  He admitted as much in that room the first time they met.

“That’s not what I meant,” Jared says tightly, teeth gritted.

“No?”

“No.”

“Hm.  Pity.”

“So do we have a deal?”

“No,” Jensen says quietly. “I’m not going to budge on this one.  This week.  You try it this week.   Then I drive you home.  If you’d rather be on call than full time, we can discuss it afterwards.  But this week is non-negotiable.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

“I’m determined.”

“So what,” Jared asks, sounding weary, resigned, and Jensen swallows down his glee. “You ring a bell when you want to screw, spend the rest of the week writing the great American novel?”

“No,” Jensen answers. “I don’t want to turn it off and on.  You agree, and then you do what I say.  24/7.  All week.  Every moment of it is mine.”

“All day long?  Impossible.  I need a break.  At least let me have my own bedroom.”

“Jared,” Jensen says softly. “You’re going to sleep with me.  You’ll need to.  The things we’ll be doing…you’ll need the comfort.  And I want that, too.  I want you to fall asleep in my arms.”

“I still need time to myself,” Jared insists and Jensen makes himself frown, the picture of a man determined not to budge on this issue.  Inside he thrills to this new development.  Jared is so determined to argue for breathing room that he’s lost focus of his main objections.

He’s going to do it.  Jensen can taste victory.

“Okay,” Jensen shouts finally, throwing up his hands in mock disgust. “You win.  Some time to yourself.  How about from waking until after breakfast?”

“Shit. Really?”

“Yes.  Is it a deal?”

“Shit.  Oh shit.”  Jared suddenly claps a hand over his mouth.  Jensen knows what his pet is thinking.

“Starting fresh,” Jensen soothes.   His pet is trembling a bit.  But Jensen can let go of all of Jared’s past transgressions, if it gets him what he wants. “Just you and me, from here forward.”

“Okay,” Jared says softly.  He looks a bit pale.

“Okay,” Jensen answers, smiling.  He walks over to his satchel, draws out his favorite pen and a crisp sheet of paper, places it on the coffee table in front of Jared.

“Shall we negotiate?”

“Another list, what a surprise.”

“I like lists,” Jensen retorts. “I like lists and I like you.  I’m going to make you happy.  I promise. Now, let’s hammer out the details.”

Jared’s smile is small and unhappy, but he doesn’t say no.  Instead he burrows down deeper into his blanket, then looks up and meets Jensen eye to eye.

“What did you have in mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle books, which are referenced in this chapter, I highly recommend them. They're a great slice of 1950s Americana. See instead of talking to their misbehaving children rationally, the parents in these books utilize wacky "cures" suggested to them by the friendly, hunchback lady in the neighborhood. Because humiliation/potential injury/temporary mutilation works so much better than compassionate dialogue. Oh my God, these books are a treasure.
> 
> Don't touch Dick's stuff though, seriously. He'll hit your hand with a baseball bat.


	13. The Shark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, have some porn for Armistice Day.
> 
> Oh, and by the way, just wanted to make sure we're on the same page and I've had a few questions about the 'plot.' This is a story about sadistic!amoral!hitman!Jensen using manipulation to break Jared down and make him his pet. Yes? Yes. I can add "Dead Dove:Do Not Eat" to the tags if you guys would prefer. What you see is basically what you get here.
> 
> Still on board? Okay, let's carry on, shall we.

“You gonna stare at it all night, or are you gonna say something?” Jared asks, talking through a mouthful of food, and that should be disgusting, but it’s hot.  Everything Jared does is hot, Jensen thinks.  He can’t take his eyes off his boy.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Jensen says faintly, looking down in dismay at the paper in front of him.

“You told me to make a list,” Jared reproves.  His white teeth gnaw at the rib bone in his mouth, sauce smeared at the corners of each mouth.  It isn’t the orgasmic eyelash fluttering he did with the French toast, but Jared obviously likes food, likes to eat, and the pleasure he’s getting from something Jensen has made is doing all sorts of things to Jensen’s insides.  Jensen has never had any sort of fetish around food, quite the opposite, but seeing Jared like this, eyes dark with pleasure as he sucks pornographically at the tip of the rib bone, might be changing Jensen’s mind.

“It’s…it’s somewhat resembling a list,” Jensen answers. 

“You told me to make it.”

“Yes.  It was your counter offer, after all.”

“So what’s the problem?” Jared asks, voice casual on the surface but tight with tension underneath and Jensen suspects this conversation is a repeat of one of many Jared has had before.

He had wanted to calm Jared a bit, so he had stepped outside to bring in dinner, leaving Jared to write down his own ideas about his role as ‘personal assistant.’  The illusion of input and control, as far as Jensen is concerned, but his pet doesn’t need to know that.  Let Jared think some of this is his idea.  And perhaps, Jared has a few fantasies floating around in his brain, some deliciously shameful ideas Jensen can exploit.

Walking back to the kitchen, Jensen had been arrested by the sight of Jared on his knees by the coffee table, bent over the paper with fierce concentration on his face.  His long, graceful fingers had looked scrunched and crab-like gripping Jensen’s pen.  When Jensen had brought in Jared’s plate, Jared had pushed the paper across the table as if it merited no attention, then had attacked his plate of food like a man starved.  No big deal, Jared’s behavior had seemed to say, but his eyes had darted up at Jensen, a quick, defiant flash of hazel and down.

“This isn’t a list,” Jensen says, lifting the paper up to examine it again, as if staring at it will bring the ideas on the paper into some cohesive sense.  The words are printed, too close together, drifting slightly down from what should be a straight line.  It’s nothing like the beautiful cursive, highly organized lists Jensen makes.  Jensen thinks about his conversation with Tim, about the props he has in his car for a scene, and mulls a bit about what he knows about Jared, and Jared’s sense of himself.

“It’s a list,” Jared counters, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it either.

“Okay,” Jensen answers, because now isn’t the time to debate semantics.  Now is the time to collect more information, always useful in adding to the ways Jensen plans to crack Jared open. “This part here…it seems to be…possible suggestions for a safe word?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“I don’t want you to have a safe word,” Jensen answers.

Jared’s mouth hangs open a bit, and it’s almost unattractive with the half-chewed meat stewing inside it.  Then he snaps his mouth shut, swallows a bit, and mumbles, “I want a safe word.”

“If you agree to this, you’re mine,” Jensen says tightly. “All week.  I want you completely under my control.”  The words are out of his mouth before he realizes he might need to be a bit more subtle in his negotiations.  He just showed Jared all his cards.

“I’m a recent graduate of your basement boot camp,” Jared replies. “I’d consider myself somewhat of an expert on this.  I want a safe word. It should be my decision.”

“It’s your decision to give yourself to me for a week,” Jensen counters, face back under control and seemingly nonchalant. “After that, you trust me to be in control.  You give it all up and place yourself under my hand, my will.  Let me please you.  Let go of everything and just exist.  It’s better that way.”

“Better for you,” Jared snorts.

“You’re fairly new to this,” Jensen answers. “You’re not going to really enjoy it if you’re constantly second guessing my choices.  You have the mornings when we’re not playing, before breakfast.  We can discuss what you liked, what you didn’t.  What worked, what surprised you, what you want more of.”

Jensen tries on a pitiable, insecure smile.  He says softly, “I really need this.”

Jared’s eyes go soft with compassion, but he shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry.”

Jensen lets it go for a moment.  He might need to come up with a way to work around this, but Jared doesn’t seem willing to budge at the moment.

“What did you want your safe word to be?”

Jared meets Jensen’s eyes, and there’s anger there. “Gas mask.”

In that moment, Jensen re-evaluates his plan of attack.  Jared may look vulnerable, but he’s coming at this negotiation from a completely different place.  There’s not a small amount of fury and revenge, in this not-list Jared has cooked up. 

Jared is far more malleable when he’s insecure and seeking reassurance.

“Oh, was that a safe word?” Jensen asks casually, angling the paper. “I thought that was part of your list of approved kinks.  The things you really like.”

“Yeah, right.  None of this is my idea!”

“These are all your ideas,” Jensen counters. “Everything you’ve been thinking about since we were together.  Every way I pleased you.”

Jared’s face flushes red.

“I don’t see ‘biting’ on the list,” Jensen continues. “Did you forget it?  Or did you misspell it?”

“Stop it,” Jared says hotly, but his eyes are going teary at the corners.

“Why isn’t it on this list?  Why not make a list telling me what you like?  Don’t you think you deserve to feel good?”

“I…I didn’t…”

“You did,” Jensen says comfortingly. “I was there.  You were with me.  It wasn’t all bad for you.  I made you fly.  I want to take you there again, if you’ll let me.”

“It can’t be like that again!” Jared shouts. “I can’t be back there, not knowing what’s happening, fucking terrified!  I don’t want to do that, not ever again!”

“Jared—“

“You don’t have any idea!  I couldn’t get away, I couldn’t stop it.  I…I..”

“Hey,” Jensen says, reaching out, and Jared hesitates for a minute, then grasps Jensen’s hand like a lifeline. “It won’t be like that.  I wouldn’t do that.  I didn’t know.  I didn’t know.”

“You liked it!”

“Of course I did.  It was a fantasy.  I didn’t know.”

“I don’t want to go back there,” Jared says, eyes wet but still defiant.

“Never,” Jensen soothes. “Not like that.  Different.  You and me, we’ll make something different out of what happened.”

“I want to go home,” Jared murmurs and Jensen’s head jerks a bit in memory of that night, the hottest, most satisfying evening he’s ever had in his life.  Jared limp and accepting, open to everything Jensen wanted to do to him, coming under Jensen’s hand.

A throbbing erection is probably not the best reaction to another person’s distress, but Jensen can’t help it.  Jared looks so good when he’s sad and broken.

“It was a fantasy,” Jensen soothes and Jared looks up at him, eyes wide, wanting to trust. “This is new.  What we make together, I promise you, won’t take you back to that place.”

“No breath play.  Please.”

“Come here,” Jensen cajoles and Jared hesitates, he does and doesn’t want to.  But he’s lonely and needy and it doesn’t take much for Jensen to draw Jared around the coffee table, to put him on his knees before the sofa and to press his head down into Jensen’s lap.  Pet those sweaty brown curls.  Jared closes his eyes and there’s a bit of sauce still smeared up against his cheek.  He looks so young and vulnerable, not at all like the large, capable man Jensen knows him to be.

“Please.”

“Hush.  Just turn it off for a minute. It’s okay.  I’m here and it’s okay.”

So Jared does, body going limper and limper as he presses his cheek to Jensen’s knee.  Jensen indulges himself, stroking Jared’s head, letting his fingers drift down to knead at his pet’s neck, smiling at Jared’s quiet groan.  All this power and muscle, defenseless under his hand.

“How does this feel?” Jensen asks after a while, after Jared has seemingly calmed down.

Jared hesitates. “Good.”

“Good.  This is how I want it to be.”

“You’re not going to be satisfied with just my head resting in your lap,” Jared says bitterly, and although his pet’s intelligence is attractive, Jensen can’t help but wish his boy was just a bit stupider.  Combined with Jared’s gullibility—trusting nature, Jensen supposes—and his compassion, it would make this whole thing a bit easier.

“No, but you wouldn’t be satisfied either,” Jensen responds. “Jared, you liked what we did together.  Without the rush, the high of the pleasure and the pain, the anticipation, what would this be?”

“I don’t want to go back there.”

“We won’t,” Jensen promises, and now that he’s had time to think, he has a bit of an idea formulating in his mind. “Jared, you can have a safe word.”

“I can?”

“Yes.  And no gas masks.  No ties, no masks, nothing on your face or around your neck, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“But we’re doing some breath play,” Jensen replies.

“But—“

“You like it, I like it,” Jensen interrupts. “You’re not the only one who’s angry here, Jared.  Pellegrino took something I liked and used it against you.  Made you afraid of it.  Made me hurt you with what I love.  I’m going to take it back for us.  I’m going to show you how it should be.  We’ll go slow, I promise.  And I won’t ever do it when you can’t easy get away from it.”

“I don’t know,” Jared mutters.

“You don’t have to know,” Jensen says. “Not tonight.  Go ahead and finish eating.  Tomorrow we’ll start fresh.  Trust me.  We don’t need a list.  This is my responsibility.  I need to take care of you. We’ll move slowly, build that trust.  And any time you want to stop, you’ll have your word.  We can stop.  You can stop it.”

“I don’t know,” Jared repeats.  His eyes are heavy.  Distress, orgasm, comfort, distress, comfort.  The roller coaster must be exhausting.

“I do.  Let it go for tonight.”

“We…we should probably talk about this more…”

“Turn around, finish eating,” Jensen says and leans over to draw Jared’s plate across the table.  Jared complies, almost automatically, too worn down to protest.  Soon his back is resting warmly against Jensen’s legs, head bent over his plate, sighing every now and then as Jensen works a hand gently thorough his pet’s hair.

Jared eats and Jensen’s mind whirls and turns.

After dinner Jensen cleans and Jared drifts to the French doors, his hand hovering on the knob.  Trapped, Jensen thinks, as he loads the dishwasher.  Trapped and with only one person to turn to.

Jensen’s plan comes apart and reformulates, neat and simple, inside the privacy of his own mind.

“Come to bed,” Jensen says after he’s set everything to rights and locked up for the night.  He reaches out his hand and this time Jared takes it quickly, although his eyes flash shyly down.

It’s mundane, Jensen thinks, this teeth brushing side by side in front of the mirror.  There’s tension in Jared’s body again, as if he isn’t sure what’s going to happen.  Jensen’s pet climbs into bed still in t-shirt and towel and tugs the sheets up to his chin, prim as a wide-eyed virgin.

“Sleeping in a towel?”

“Maybe,” Jared says defensively.  Oh, if he was Jensen’s completely, the things Jensen would make him do.

“Okay,” Jensen says, and strips his own clothes off efficiently, turning to fold each item and place it neatly on a chair.  He’s self-aware enough to know how he looks, lithe muscles twisting with each turn, pale skin gleaming as he works each item off his body.  Each time he turns back around, Jared’s mouth falls farther open.

“You…you…”

Jensen turns, naked, hands on his hips. “Yes?”

“You’re sleeping here?”

“Only bed.”  Jensen moves to the door, locks it.  Slides the chair over to rest in front of the door, blocking it slightly.  Any intruder in the night would make the chair slide and bump along the floor. 

“You’re sleeping naked?”  Jared must find Jensen very attractive, Jensen thinks, if his concern is less about Jensen preparing the safety if the room and more about Jensen’s ass, currently flexing and shifting in his field of vision.

He does have a great ass.

“Of course,” Jensen replies, climbing into the sheets. “It’s more comfortable.”

“I don’t…”

“Nothing has to happen,” Jensen says calmly, sliding around to get comfortable.

“Yeah, right.  Last night…”

“Jared, I’m not a good person,” Jensen answers, turning on one hip to face his pet.  Jared’s eyes keep darting down to Jensen’s chest, as if drawn there.  Jensen wants to press his boy’s wet, open mouth there, let Jared suck at his nipple, needy as a kitten. “But I’m trying.  I’m trying to make you happy.  What can I do?  What do you need?”

Jared looks away guiltily. “Hold me?”

“Of course.”

Drawing Jared in and wrapping his arms around him, Jensen presses close, legs tangling companionably.  Jared sighs and sinks back into Jensen’s arms.

“Nice?”

“Yes.”

The rough terry cloth of the towel isn’t as nice to the touch on Jensen’s dick as the velvety skin of Jared’s ass.  Jensen swallows an annoyed sigh.  As if thinking the same thing, Jared shifts his hips and bumps his ass back into Jensen’s cock, and Jensen doesn’t even bother to muffle his groan.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.  You were the same way last night.”

“I was not!”

“No, that’s true.  It was more of a continual grind,” Jensen says and presses his hips forward, rubbing, testing.  Jared lets out a strangled laugh.

“Stop it.”

“You basically attacked me.  Demanded I service you.”

“Hah!” Jared says, but Jensen doesn’t stop rubbing, and Jared is pressing back into it. “I was out of it.  The drugs, remember.”

“How was I supposed to know you had taken them?  You were very insistent.”

“This behavior must have gone over very well in your fraternity.”

“Never joined one,” Jensen says, sliding a hand daringly over Jared’s chest. “I can make poor decisions all on my own.”

Jared turns in Jensen’s arms.  He’s trying to force his face to be stern, but his eyes are smiling. “Do you have any idea what consent means?”

“Do you want me to stop?” Jensen asks, sliding a thigh between Jared’s, silky skin to silky skin, the towel curling away and to the side.

“No,” Jared says, and then he’s leaning in, hot mouth covering Jensen’s own, reaching out on his own, and Jensen thrills as he presses closer, everything Jared, scent and taste and feel.

It’s not exactly how Jensen likes it, but it’s Jared, and he’s hot and yielding and Jensen takes the gift he’s been given.  Jared trusting enough to touch him, to let himself be touched.  Tomorrow the shields may be back up, and Jensen will have to break them down all over again.

Maybe Jared isn’t the only one who needs to turn it off.

The kissing is frantic and hungry, Jared’s mouth open and wet, tongue licking into Jensen’s mouth.  Jared rolls them over, straddles Jensen’s hips, stomach rippling as he reaches up to tug off his t-shirt, to flick his towel away, rising naked and glorious over Jensen.  Then Jensen is snarling, shifting, tumbling his pet onto his back, rising up to slot between Jared’s legs and press his boy down into the mattress.

“Don’t,” Jared whispers as Jensen’s cock shifts to press behind Jared’s balls, and there’s fear there, uncertainty, smothering the mindless heat and want from before.

“Not like that,” Jensen soothes because it’s true.  Not like that.  Not without tying Jared up, limbs spread, open and defenseless.  Not without teasing and stuffing his hole, making it wet and open, driving Jared wild with need.  Not without making him come at least once before, so he’s oversensitive, so the slide of Jensen’s dick over his prostate his both pleasure and pain.

“Not like that,” Jensen repeats and Jared nods, more reassured as Jensen adjusts his cock to rub against Jared’s own, not nearly wet enough with only sweat and pre-come between them, but still good, the friction sparking in Jensen’s gut, despite the threat of chaffing.

“Please,” Jared moans and he’s writhing against his master, hands gripping Jensen’s shoulders, on fire with want.  His head falls back, sweat gathering in the hollow of his throat, and Jensen laps it up, salty on his tongue.  It’s the easiest thing in the world to draw his teeth along Jared’s graceful neck, to bite down with careful force.

“Oh fuck!  More, more!”

“Scream for me,” Jensen whispers and it’s not exactly right, but it’s good, and he nibbles and licks and bites, just this side of too hard, as Jared jerks and yells beneath him.

It’s difficult to control himself, but Jensen keeps the bites moderate.  It’s what his boy likes, what he thrills to, and each sharp snap of Jensen’s teeth makes Jared howl and whine with pleasure.

“Please!  Can I?  Can I please?”  Jared is writhing frantically, his voice wrecked with his cries and moans.  It takes a minute for Jensen to realize what Jared is asking for, and then he hides his grin beneath the wet edge of his pet’s jaw.

Asking permission to come.  Already. 

What a well-trained pet.

“Please!”

“Do you want to come for me, Jared?” Jensen asks, pulling back to look into his pet’s stormy eyes, pupil huge with lust.  Jared squirms beneath him, hips pumping, hands reaching up to claw and grasp at his master’s shoulders.  His neck is red and blotchy, sure to be purpled with love bites in the morning, badges of Jensen’s ownership.

“Please!”

“Come for me,” Jensen commands and Jared does, whimpering, wet heat between them.  It makes the glide between them smoother, and takes that edge of pain away that had helped Jensen stay under control.  He pulls back, up on his knees, takes his cock between fingers now wet with Jared’s spend, and jerks off crouched over his pet.  Jensen would like the stripe his boy’s cheeks and lips, spread himself over Jared’s tongue, but he’s still got enough grasp on the dark impulses inside him to reign it in and aim for the ridges of Jared’s stomach.

It’s black lightning behind Jensen’s eyes, flashes of Jared naked and marked beneath him when his lashes flutter back open.  Jared’s face is soft, pleased.  All trace of fear and misery wiped away.

Accepting and docile.  Adoring.  His.

Jensen tumbles back down to cover his slave with his own body.  Every inch of Jared belonging to Jensen and Jensen alone.

“Good,” Jared mumbles after a long while and Jensen purrs his agreement. “Clean up?”

“Of course,” Jensen says, and this is of course his job.  He drags himself out of bed to wet a washcloth and drag the warmth of it down both their bodies.

“Thanks.  You’re cute and everything, but I don’t think I’d much like to wake up stuck to you.”

Jensen settles back into bed, and Jared slides back into his arms like he’s coming home.

“You think I’m cute?”

Jared snorts. “Just…just shut up for a little while.”

“Of course,” Jensen says solicitously, and then he’s reaching across Jared to open the pill box, to press an Ativan against Jared’s lips.

“No.”

“Just the one.  You need it.  You need the sleep.  Today was a lot.”

“This whole month has been a lot,” Jared counters tiredly, but he opens his mouth and swallows the pill dry, with efficient practice.

“This will help.”

“Just…,” Jared sighs, tugs Jensen’s arm around his middle. “Just don’t do that again.  Don’t have sex with me while I’m sleeping.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m serious.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t ‘Superman’ me again, either,” Jared says and he can’t be too upset about the other night, not if he can joke about it.

“Of course.”

Jared sighs again and melts back into Jensen.  What he’ll be like tomorrow, Jensen knows only time will tell.  He waits a bit, waits for Jared’s breath to settle, before he plays his final, riskiest card for the night.

“I know you’re asleep,” Jensen whispers. “But I’m falling in love with you, Jared.  I promise I’ll take the very best care of you.”

His pet isn’t asleep yet, Jensen knows, could call him on his comment, but Jared lies still and quiet, his breathing soft.  Whether he’ll believe Jensen or not remains to be seen.

And that what Jensen said was true, doesn’t make it any less effective.

 

 


	14. Oral Fixation

It’s day three in the little log McMansion and Jared wakes up feeling better than he ever has before.  He’s alone in the bed—a bed that now smells like Mast—Jensen—and Jared luxuriates in the sheets, nose buried in pillows that smell of Jensen’s cologne and hair product.  A bit of sex and sweat in the smell but it’s good to Jared, it’s like catnip.  He stretches and smiles a bit before everything that happened yesterday comes crashing into his mind.  Jared remembers.

Today is the day.  The day Jared starts to play along, to do what Jensen wants him to do.

Nervous fear is making him feel physically ill.

Curling smaller in the bed, Jared runs through possible ways to get out of the deal.  He’d thought he was done with the ‘bargaining’ stage of whatever this is—trauma? Grief? Who knows?—and had moved on to ‘acceptance.’ Apparently not.  His mind running frantically like a hamster on a wheel, Jared lets himself think of all the possible options he has—none.

Staying in bed is one temporary option, Jared supposes.  After all, Jensen said they would start after breakfast.  They never did establish what time breakfast would be.  And when Jared finally comes down to breakfast he can east slow, chew his food 100 times—

No. It’s cowardly.  Jared pulls up his nonexistent big boy pants and climbs out of the bed.  Better to get it over with.  Jensen thinks he wants Jared.  That Jared can be this thing that Jensen needs and admires. Fine.  It probably won’t be long before Jensen is looking at Jared with disappointment—a look Jared’s all too familiar with.  He’s not too good at meeting people’s expectations.

And how sick is it that Jared actually feels bad about how he’s going to fail this gig.  He should be relieved.  He can picture it already, naked on his knees, face burning with shame, and Jensen saying witheringly, “I guess this isn’t going to work out.”

Last night Jensen promised a lot of things.  Care and consideration.  Love.  He said he was falling in love with Jared.

He also said he knew everything they had done together had just been a fantasy.

Jared cleans up and dons another towel-kilt, when he finally gets back to his life—what little is left of it—he’s going to feel weird wearing pants.  He does a double take when he looks at himself in the mirror.  His neck is a blotchy mess of bruises, purple and red.  It’s strangely…pretty.  Jared can’t help but press a finger to a bruise under his jaw.  It hurts a bit and that feels…good.  Blushing, Jared drops his hand before he has to think too closely about his reaction.

There’s no t-shirt left on the bed this time and although it would be ridiculous for Jared to go downstairs with his hands cupped over his pecs, he can’t help but feel exposed. He settles for folding his arms instead.

Downstairs, Jensen is once again bent over the stove, cooking breakfast.  Jared clears his throat, hovering at the threshold of the kitchen, and Jensen turns around and smiles.

He has a great smile, Jared thinks.  He flushes a bit, thinking about the previous night.  Jensen under him then over him.  Jensen’s mouth on his throat, teeth grazing his skin.

“You’re up early.”

“Always am, unfortunately.  My internal clock has no snooze button.”

“What’s for breakfast?” Jared asks eagerly.

“Made myself eggs and pancakes,” Jensen says, sounding a bit too casual.  Jared frowns. “Your box is still in the fridge.”

“I don’t get pancakes?” Jared asks.

“I’d love to feed you pancakes,” Jensen answers and glances meaningfully over at the table.  It’s set for one.  There’s a couch cushion on the floor next to the only chair.

“I thought we agreed: after breakfast.”

“We did,” Jensen says smoothly. “But I don’t want to wait.  So I decided to incentivize you.”

“You mean coerce me.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

“No.”

“Pity,” Jensen says and plates his breakfast.  He arranges himself at the table, tucks into his meal, while Jared pulls his own bland fare out of the refrigerator and stews with resentment.

“So I thought we’d talk,” Jensen says, still in that infuriatingly unflappable tone. “I have some ideas.  Wanted to run them by you.”

The bottom drops out of Jared’s stomach, but he keeps shoveling in the food.  Pretends the whole idea of what they’re going to do doesn’t bother him.

“Fine.”

“So a few things.  I thought about the best approach for you.  Obviously, there’s what I like, but that’s a bit…intense.  After all you’ve been through.  I also thought about high etiquette, you know, voice restriction, orgasm denial, really rigid rules of conduct.  Help you get into the mindset.  But I decided that wasn’t quite right for you either.  Better to take a gentler approach.”

“So, what are we doing?” Jared asks, trying not to show how relieved he is that Jensen hasn’t decided to be some dom hard ass on Jared’s first day out.

“Keeping it simple,” Jensen says, smiling gently. “I give you an order, you follow it. You can talk as much as you want, as long as you address me respectfully.  We’ll keep it basic, fairly undemanding.  Build up trust.”

“Okay,” Jared mumbles.  It doesn’t sound too horrible.

“Good.  So let’s get started.  Lose the towel.”

“You said after breakfast!”

Jensen nods meaningfully at Jared’s empty plastic box. “You’re done.”

Jared looks down at the remains of his meal.  He was so stressed, so nervous, that he forgot to eat slowly.  Dammit.

“Oh and Jared,” Jensen says and Jared looks up slowly, face tingling. “Your safe word.  It’s important.  You say the word and everything stops, okay?”

“O-okay.”

“Your safe word is ‘Jensen.’”

“What the actual fuck?!”

“Careful,” Jensen reprimands and Jared trembles a bit. “You’re not swearing around me.  You’d better chose your words carefully.”

“My safe word is your name?”

“Yes,” Jensen answers pleasantly. “You can say it as much as you like when we’re not playing.  But you say it when you’re, so to speak, on duty, and everything stops.”

“Let me guess.  It’s ‘yes, Master’ and ‘no, Master’ from here on out?”

“Exactly.  So I’ll say it again: Lose the towel.”

Looking away, Jared pulls the towel off and lets it drop on the floor.  He’s standing in the kitchen, blocked by the cabinets.  And it’s not like Jensen—Master hasn’t already seen it all before…

“Come over here.”

Jared shuffles over, face flaming.

“Drop your hands.  Seriously, you look like you went swimming in a lake in a 1980s teen comedy and someone stole your clothes.”

“Fine.”

“So sullen.  Arms at your sides.”

Jared stands there, staring a hole into the floor.  Why this is so hard, he has no idea.

“Look at me,” Jensen says and Jared’s head jerks up. “You’re beautiful.”

Jared blushes, but Jensen continues, eyes drifting over Jared’s body, heat in his eyes. “Beautiful.  I love looking at you.  You should never wear clothes.  Just your chest alone...gorgeous.  Every inch of you, ever muscle, every line, it’s poetry.”

The praise is somehow soothing to Jared’s rattled nerves.  It feels nice, to be admired.  To know that although all he’s doing is standing still, he’s at least doing something right.

“Come closer,” Jensen says.

Jared expects Jensen to reach out, to touch him, but Jensen just smiles and points to the pillow. “Kneel.”

Sinking to his knees, Jared suddenly remembers.  Knees slightly spread.  Back straight.  Head down.  Hands clasped behind his back.

He can do this.

“Good, very good,” Jensen says and the words make something in Jared relax even further. “You remembered.  I want your hands on your thighs though.  That’s my preference.  And your eyes on me.”

“Okay,” Jared murmurs, looking up.  The correction stings a bit,  Always, always when he tries.  There’s something lacking.

“It’s ‘yes, Master’, Jared.”

“Yes, Master,” Jared says and that just feels goofy, coming out of his mouth. Perhaps it was easier when he was terrified, and Jensen was using pain as a motivator. He keeps looking up into Jensen’s green eyes, his own eyes watering a bit.  He’s not going to fail.

He’s going to fail.

“Ease up,” Jensen says, chuckling a bit. “This isn’t a staring contest.  Here.”

He’s holding out a bit of pancake, and Jared rises up a bit, unthinking, to take it into his mouth.

“It’s cold,” Jared says around the bite, chewing.

“You could have had them warm, if we’d started earlier,” Jensen says, grinning.  Then he’s pressing another piece to Jared’s lips, pressing inside, his fingertips tracing along Jared’s tongue.  Jared sucks at Jensen’s hand, just a hint of syrup singing on his palate, along with the taste of Jensen himself.

“Mmm,” Jared says.

“Mmm,” Jensen agrees, pulling his fingers reluctantly from Jared’s mouth. “Do you see why my way is always best?”

Jared narrows his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Shush.  You’re disrespecting your master,” Jensen says but his tone is still light and playful.  He takes another piece of pancake, drags it across Jared’s lips.  Jared opens his mouth and Jensen pushes his fingers in, keeps them in Jared’s mouth while Jared swallows the small bite down.  Pumps them in and out leisurely after the food is long gone.

Shifting a bit in embarrassment, Jared sucks at the fingers inside his mouth.  He isn’t sure what else to do.  He’s getting hard, hard just from Jensen’s hand stroking his tongue, and there’s no way to hide it.

“You like this,” Jensen says, ever observant, but before Jared can die of shame, Jensen adjusts his own hard cock with his spare hand and says, “Good.  I like this, too.”

Jensen pulls his spit-wet hand back, then slips three fingers into Jared’s mouth.  Whereas two felt erotic, three seems just a bit…obscene.

“Do you want more pancake?” Jensen asks innocently, fingers still pumping in and out.  Jared tries to shake his head, but it’s difficult with his mouth prized open.  A trickle of spit is leaking out of one corner of his mouth.

“No?  Answer me, please.”

Jared garbles a response around the digits crammed in his mouth and Jensen laughs.  The bastard.

“Good.  Good boy.  Let’s try something else.”

Jensen removes his hand from Jared’s mouth and stands and moves around the table.  Jared can’t help shifting to match, turning his body until they are face to face.  Jensen smiles at the movement, so it must be right.  It’s a bit of a relief, this verbal and non-verbal feedback.

Palming the front of his slacks, currently distorted by the line of his hard cock, Jensen says, “Okay.  Nothing too strenuous.  Just a blowjob.  I really want to get my cock in your mouth.  Based on how responsive you are to oral stimulation, I’m thinking you’ll like it a lot, too.”

“Um,” Jared says, stalling. It was stupid of him not to think Jensen wasn’t going to ask for this. “I kind of…suck at this.”

“Good.”

“No.  Shit—I mean, I’m not going be any good at this.”

“That’s two,” Jensen murmurs idly, with a small measure of satisfaction. “Why do you think you won’t be any good? Is there some national exam on cocksucking I’m unaware of?”

“Don’t joke.”

“I’m expecting an explanation, pet,” Jensen says sternly and Jared jerks a bit at the endearment.

“I’ve done it a few times.”  His face can’t get any redder.  Jesus, why did he even say anything, Jared wonders.

Because didn’t want to see disappointment on Jensen’s face.  Because failure stings just a tiny bit less when you come to terms with it, when you accept that it’s coming.

“Complaints?”

“Yeah.  So we could skip it.”

“No,” Jensen says decisively.  “I want it.  I don’t think you’ll be that terrible at it.  In fact, I think I’ll find you very pleasing.”

Jared doubts it.

Jensen sidles forward, unzipping his slacks.  His cock springs out, seemingly eager for its adventure inside Jared’s mouth, and Jared can’t help but stare.  It’s large and well-shaped, the head sweetly rounded, already wet at the tip.

“Hands on my thighs,” Jensen reproves when Jared makes a clumsy attempt to reach out and grasp Jensen’s dick. “Your hands don’t move, no matter what.”

Trembling, Jared places sweat slick palms on the soft cotton of Jensen’s slacks.

“Open up.”

Closing his eyes, Jared lets it happen, lets Jensen feed the length of his dick inside Jared’s mouth.  The taste is clean, salty.  A hint of Jensen’s cologne in his nose, perhaps drifting from the cut of his hip, maybe the fabric of his clothes.  At least by now Jared knows to watch his teeth.  The fact that Jared likes his own blow jobs rough—the drag of teeth, fast and painfully intense sucking—might have something to do with how abysmal he is at pleasing other people who don’t share his tastes.  The average person, Jared knows, doesn’t want to feel like his dick is under attack by a horny, rabid dog.

“Stay still.  Don’t move.  Just feel.”

Drool is filling Jared’s mouth.  It feels good, Jensen’s cock in his mouth.  It fills him up, stretches his lips, satisfies him in a way he’s not really sure how to explain.  It’s better than Master’s salt-sweet fingers on his tongue.

God, he needs to swallow.

“Okay,” Jensen breathes, sounding a bit less sure, a bit wrecked, and that feels good.  Knowing he’s pleasing his master, just by remaining still. “I’m going to move.  Stay still. Relax.”

There’s the smooth glide of Master’s dick across his tongue.  A slow drag until the tip is hovering at Jared’s lips, and he so badly wants to lunge forward, and then the slow press inside, tunneling inside Jared, opening him up and filling his mouth.  There’s saliva escaping at the corners of his mouth.

“Good.  Good pet.  You can swallow when you need to.”

It’s somehow natural, instinctual.  Perfect.  When Jensen presses in, a little deeper each time, Jared swallows around his cock.  Each time he does, Master lets out a lovely little moan, and Jared almost shimmies out of his skin with pleasure.

“Good boy.  That’s it.  You’re sucking cock so well.”

There’s a hand threading through the sweaty hair at the back of Jared’s neck, an achingly good caress, but it’s peripheral, unimportant.  Jared’s skin feels large, raw.  His dick is hard between his legs, throbbing with the beat of his heart, but that too is unimportant.  His entire world has narrowed down to the flesh filling his mouth, the taste and smell, the moans in his ears.

“Something new now.”  Jared hears the words from far away.  Master is pressing in, in, deeper and deeper.  Jared can feel him deep in his throat.  He swallows and swallows, thrilling to each moan he drags out of his master.  He’s hovering in that moment…

He can’t breathe.

Gasping, Jared jerks away, falling back on his ass, and Jensen lets him.  His mouth is empty but the air is sweet as he sucks it into his lungs, panting.  Jensen is staring down at him, face unreadable and Jared feels hurt, frustrated, confused.

Bad.

“I said,” Jensen pants, cheeks pink with pleasure. “We’d be doing some breath play.”

“Can’t.”

“You just did.  You were doing beautifully.  Then you panicked.”

“I…I…”

“Jared,” Jensen says and Jared snaps even more into himself at the sound of his name. “You have control here.  I won’t hold you down or make you do it.  You decide how long you want to hold your breath, not me.  Trust.  We’re taking it back.”

“I don’t know,” Jared whispers, but he’s struggling back up on his knees.  His mouth is watering.  He’s afraid, but he wants it.  He wants to be full again.  He wants to be good.

“Trust, pet,” Jensen breathes and his hand is back on Jared’s neck, kneading.  It feels so right.  Jared closes his eyes, feels the soft brush of Jensen’s cock on his lips.  Without thinking, he opens his mouth, accepts it back inside.

“Good.  You’re so good,” Jensen croons and Jared flushes with pleasure at the praise. “Just a bit.  We’ll get your rhythm going and we’ll try again.  That’s my boy.  Good, good.”

It doesn’t take long for Jared to sink back into the sensation.  The flesh filling his mouth, in and out, as regular as waves rising and falling.  Soon he’s just taste and smell and sound, Jensen his everything.

“Now,” Master says from far away and Jared relaxes.  Lets him in.  Throat pulsing, he feels Master deep inside him. “Let’s see how long.  When you need to, pet, pull back.  Take a breath.  But only if you need to.”

Suck, swallow.  Suck, swallow.  There’s pinpricks of light dancing at the edges of Jared’s eyes, but that’s fine.  There’s suddenly a shift, a sideways slide in Jared’s reality, and he’s flying.  It’s euphoric.  There’s only the cock in his mouth and the tingle in his mind.

“Whoa,” Master says, laughing, and he’s easing back.  Letting Jared take several large gulps of air through his nose.  There’s this need, hunger, and Jared finds himself quickly pressing back down on his master’s cock, taking it deep once again, letting his throat flutter around Master’s length, pleasing himself with the groans and cries issuing from far above him.

Breathe. Swallow, suck. Choke. Breathe.  It goes on forever, or so it seems, Jared soaring on his knees, the universe centered between his lips, vision hazy when his eyes flutter open.

“I can’t,” someone gasps, voice familiar, and then there’s a hand gripping the back of his head hard, forcing him down, choking him on the cock in his mouth.  He can’t move but he doesn’t want to, breathless, spots dancing in his eyes.  Then his mouth is empty, so empty, and his face is warm and wet as he swallows huge gusts of air.

Eyes fluttering open, Jared takes in the fuzzy image of a man standing above him.  His eyelashes feel sticky and there’s more words in his ears as his face is hastily wiped with a towel.  The man drops to his knees and it’s Master, Master letting Jared lean into his shoulder, to rest against him.  It’s Master reaching down to grasp Jared’s swollen cock, just a few quick jerks, and then an orgasm rises like wave, running the length of Jared’s body, shivering every inch of him in explosive pleasure.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Master says and Jared sags forward, panting.  Buries his nose is a sweet-smelling shoulder.  He never wants to move again.  It feels like he just ran a race. “You’re okay.”

“Tell me I did good.”

“You did real good, baby.  Good job.”

Jared smiles and sags even heavier against Jensen’s shoulder.  He did it.  He did good.

He didn’t fail.


	15. Netflix and Chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi gang. Just a heads up, I don't really tag for each chapter so peruse the main tags before proceeding. But, I mean you're probably gonna be fine, right. You made it this far.  
> The reason, I'm reminding y'all: this chapter is a bit rape-y. I mean, this whole thing is a bit* rape-y but ymmv here with regards to force.
> 
> *a lot
> 
> Also I have finished plotting this out and everything, the Devil willing I will finish this soon so I can focus on two projects with actual deadlines. Expect some machinations. :)

It’s late morning, quiet save for some birdsong, and Jensen is too comfortable to move.  He feels sated in a way that only comes from dominating someone, better than any sex he’s ever had.  Better than the orgasm that accompanied one of the hottest, most desperate blow jobs he’s ever witnessed.

He’s content.  He pets the messy pile of hair under his hand, shifts a bit just to feel the weight of Jared’s head resting in his lap.

Good pet.

Jared hasn’t said anything since he collapsed on the floor.  He only smiled faintly, head lolling to the side, as Jensen cleaned him up and helped him walk to the couch.  It is more than just the release of coming, Jensen knows.  And beyond just the struggle between Jared’s conscience and Jensen’s manipulations. Performance anxiety.  Jensen can picture it: seven year old Jared bombing a spelling bee on the last word, twelve year old Jared flubbing his lines in a school play, sixteen year old Jared failing every test in every class.  Adult Jared blowing a job interview just on nerves alone.  Fear of failure.  A self-fulfilling prophecy.

Now Jared did something right and hours of stress and anxiety have washed away.  Temporarily.  Jensen’s in no hurry to rouse his pet and start the cycle ramping back up again.

It’s pleasant for Jensen to just sit and let the memories wash over him.  Jared on his knees, eyes hungry and mouth watering.  Pushing himself longer and longer, eyes glazing over from lack of air, attacking Jensen’s cock with mindless need.  It had been too much for Jensen.  He’d totally let himself go: jerking Jared’s head down and choking his pet with his cock, then pulling out to spray all over Jared’s face with fierce, possessive mania.

Below him, Jared lets out another soft, sighing exhalation.  Almost a coo or a purr.  They come at irregular intervals, as Jensen’s pleased pet stares off into some inner space, at peace.

Jensen’s not even sure if Jared knows fully what happened, what with how deep he sank into the experience.

Probably for the best.

The lull gives Jensen time to think, time to plan without having to also put on his mask and match wits with his pet.  He needs to sell it just right: surrender as a form of peace.  A way for Jared to feel accomplished and relaxed.  The message that giving up control is the key, the more helpless Jared is, the better.  Jensen just needs to formulate the right persuasive technique, figure out how to get Jared to buy in.  To help transition from the softer stuff to the truly hard core bondage and subjugation that Jensen craves.  Jared naked and helpless, panting and whining, eyes wide with both fear and hunger, pushing himself to the limit, trusting in Jensen’s command.

Jensen’s mind is never truly quiet.

After a while there’s a stirring from the large man draped across his lap like some exotic cat.  Jensen can’t hear a click, but he can sense it: Jared’s mind turning back on, coming back to reality.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Jensen says.  He keeps stroking his pet’s mane of hair, and Jared shifts a bit more and sighs. “Back among the land of the living?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“How do you feel?”

“Good.” Jared frowns a bit.  There’s tension building back up, just this fine tightness in the satiny skin of his back.

“Good,” Jensen says. “You did really well.  Just fell right into the moment.  It was beautiful.”

“It wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“I told you you’d fly,” Jensen says.  He moves his caress from the top of Jared’s head to the long, warm slope of his back.  Each moment that Jared lays quiet, submissive, accepting affection, is a moment of victory.

“I think…did you come on my face?”

“Why, is that a problem?” Jensen asks innocently.

“Bit degrading, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” Jensen counters.  He tugs a bit and Jared turns his head up to look at Jensen’s face.  His pet’s hazel eyes are wary and confused. “I wasn’t trying to degrade you.  I was cherishing you, owning you.  I was marking you.  Every glorious inch of you mine.  Everyone else can back off.”

“Calm down, Fido.  I’m sure all the other big dogs are impressed.”

“An accurate comparison I suppose.  But honestly, pet, it’s not like I peed on you.”

Jared eyes cut away and his face flushes red.  Jensen grins like a shark.  Interesting.

“Hmm.  You like that idea.”

“Ha.  Not really.”

“I think you do.  Not exactly my kink, but I have a few ideas.”

“I just spent a month pooping in a bowl,” Jared huffs. “I think I’ve reached my quota for scat.  Thanks but no thanks.”

Jensen lets the issue drop.  Something for him to muse over, later.

Jared shifts nervously. “What now?”

“Watch a movie,” Jensen decides. “After all, I am on vacation.”

Jared perks up a bit. “You have Netflix?”

“Of course.”

“Man, I haven’t watched TV since…”

It’s clear the moment that all Jared’s relaxation flees, once and for all.  It’s easy to forget, Jensen knows, and fall into a role.  Play the game. Push away all the things lost and stolen.

Gently pushing Jared’s head away, Jensen rises and grabs his laptop.  When he moves back to the couch to set everything up on the coffee table, Jared is sitting upright.  His pet is nervously patting at his own naked body.  The lithe, sensual creature from before, unashamed of his nakedness and lounging like a pleasure slave, is gone.

Jensen types in his password, cues up a show, and then pats his knee. “Lie here.”

“I don’t get to pick?”

“I’m on vacation,” Jensen counters smoothly. “You’re not.  Technically you’re still on duty.  And I want my pet with his head in my lap, quiet and compliant.”

Grumbling a bit, Jared climbs back into position. “I have to watch sideways.”

“Oh, is that a problem?” Jensen asks airily. He unclips the screen from the keyboard and rotates it on one side. “I’ll just turn it…oops!  Hold on a minute…” Jensen turns the screen again, smiling wickedly as the picture rights itself again. “Oops!  Let me try it this way—“

“Har har.  You’re hilarious.”

“That’s ‘you’re hilarious, master’,” Jensen corrects.  He tugs and positions Jared the way he wants his boy, arranging limbs, until Jared is tucked up on one side, knees bent and head firmly in his master’s lap.

“This show…you like _this_?”

“Not a word about my taste. Talk through any more of the intro and I’ll gag you.”

Jensen’s seen the episode before, but Jared doesn’t need to know it.  Instead of watching the screen, he watches his boy.  It only takes a few minutes for Jared’s attention to center on the screen, for the wariness to drop away.  Like food, movies seem to be another creature comfort Jared really enjoys.  Jensen uses the time to admire his pet, to stroke his back and neck soothingly.  Get Jared used to being casually touched.  From his vantage point, Jensen can see the place when Jared’s back dips into a low curve before rising into the swell of his tight, little ass. Skin as smooth as a dream. Jensen lets his hand dip low, stroking each cheek lightly. Jared jumps a bit at the initial contact—ridiculous, Jensen thinks, knowing how responsive Jared is to anal play—but soon quiets, even chuckling a bit as he watches the screen.

It’s when Jensen dips a finger into the crease, stroking gently along the furrow, that Jared finally mounts his first verbal defense.

“Stop it.”

Jensen hits the pause button.  The look of mutiny on Jared’s face is almost comical.  Jensen wonders what would happen if he gave Jared a cookie and then snatched it away.

“Excuse me?  Address me correctly.”

“Fine.  ‘Stop it, Master.’”

“No.”

“Look,” Jared tries. “Can’t we just watch the show?”

“I want to do both,” Jensen says. “Are you using your safe word?”

Jared hesitates. “No.  I just don’t like it—“

“I think we know you like it all too well.  What’s the real problem?”

“Why do I need a reason?” Jared yells. “I just don’t want to.”

“Stop,” Jensen commands. “Stop right now.  On your knees.”

Jared slides reluctantly to his knees before the couch.  His face is still furious, but there’s a hint of unease.  A moment later he’s adjusting his position, hands on his thighs, face upturned.  A bit anxious.

“Good posture,” Jensen approves and Jared’s angry expression softens a bit. “You promised you would try.  Be mine.  All day, no breaks.  You aren’t keeping your promise.  Or did you forget yourself, too busy enjoying a movie to pay attention to me?”

“I’m not breaking my promise,” Jared mutters.

“Look, we knew this would be challenging,” Jensen says softly.  He reaches out and takes Jared’s hand.  Realigns the moment: Jared and Jensen teaming up, surviving and recovering together. “I’m going to push you a little.  But I was barely touching you.  I didn’t break out a bottle of lube and a huge plug.  What’s wrong?”

“It hurt.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It hurt, Master.”

“Not that badly,” Jensen responds, confused.  Granted, he hadn’t actually eased Jared into the experience.  But since he had been expecting an experienced sex worker playing a part, not a coerced virgin, he hadn’t thought he’d needed to.  God, he’d been Jared’s first.  No one else had ever had his boy that way.  The mere idea of it sets Jensen on fire.

“Um, the way you’re staring at me is seriously creepy,” Jared says. “Not really making me feel better.”

“Sorry,” Jensen says sheepishly, covering his gaffe with his trademark, awkward smile. “Look, I was planning on taking it slow.  Building trust, remember.  Do you trust me?”

Jared hesitates, shifting on his knees.

“Trust,” Jensen says firmly. “I trust you.  Trust me.  Come back up here.”

“Don’t hurt me,” Jared says.

“I won’t,” Jensen promises. _Not this time._

Reluctantly, Jared climbs back onto the couch, head back in Jensen’s lap.  Enough time has lapsed that Jensen’s screen is dark, and he types in his password again for access before restarting the show.

“Now,” Jensen commands, “Don’t move.  I’m going to play, just a little.  Amuse myself.  Just relax.  Enjoy it.  I made you feel good earlier, yes?”

“Yes,” Jared admits.

“And you don’t need to do anything to please me,” Jensen adds and Jared’s shoulders relax a bit at that comment. “Just rest.  Enjoy.  You’ll do just fine.”

Keeping his strokes light and undemanding, Jensen strokes Jared’s ass cheeks until his pet falls back under the spell of the flickering screen, back into the snug cocoon of fantasy and a world far away.  Jensen’s deliberately picked a show more cerebral and sexy than guts and gore, something to relax and titillate, not disturb.

Below him, his pet relaxes, sinking down a bit into the couch, and Jensen smiles.  He lets his hand drift lower, soft exploratory touches.  Jared stiffens a bit, but as no pain or intrusion comes, melts back down onto his side.

When Jensen finally rubs two fingers lightly across Jared’s opening, a slow, dragging caress, Jared moans a bit, softly and he turns over slightly, opening his legs farther and canting up his hips.  Jensen would snort but he doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

His boy is so easy.

It’s hot and silky underneath Jensen’s questing fingers.  That small, crinkled opening, just waiting to be speared open.  The more Jensen rubs and strokes, circling and pressing with firm fingers, the more Jared shifts and groans.

“Like this?”

“It’s…it’s okay,” Jared hedges.  His cheeks are flaming.  Jensen gives his pet a nudge and Jared groans and buries his face in his master’s knee.  Adorable.

“Be honest.  And polite.  Do you like this?”

“Y-yes, Master.”

“Good,” Jensen says. “I’m pleased.  You’re pleasing me, with how much you like this.”

Jensen’s satchel is right there on the coffee table, lube just inside.  Well, he didn’t exactly lie to Jared.  Jensen’s just used to always being prepared.  Jared’s head comes up at the click of the bottle’s lid, but he doesn’t object.

“Gently now,” Jensen soothes, coating his fingers.  His mind drifts away for a minute into a more demanding fantasy.  Jared, bound and shivering, taking bigger and bigger plugs, begging for more, taking each one with slutty, quivering ease.  Jensen wrenches his quickly mind back to the present: he needs to tread carefully here.

“Your dick is putting a dent in my cheek,” Jared says dryly.

“Yours is probably making a mess of the couch,” Jensen counters, adjusting himself.  He slides his fingers carefully down.

His pet jumps again at the contact, but in all fairness it is a bit cool to the touch.  Jensen keeps up that same firm, undemanding touch and waits for his boy to melt under the pleasure of it all.

When Jared is moaning quietly again, ass canted up, Jensen presses one finger in, slow and steady.  He feels that ring of muscle give under his touch, and presses in shallowly, letting his finger move in a leisurely circle.  A few minutes later it’s Jared himself who takes the next step.  His pet presses up and Jensen lets his finger sink deep, enjoying Jared’s breathy whine. Jensen pumps his finger in and out, pausing every so often to trace Jared’s rim with the tip, before plunging back inside.  Each time he hesitates, his pet whimpers impatiently.

“Good?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“So good, Master.  I need…”

“I know what you need,” Jensen says and slides another finger inside.  Jared’s legs fall father open.  He’s almost on his belly, hard cock beneath him, hips rising up to meet Jensen’s thrusts.  Jensen curves his fingers slightly on the out stroke and Jared gasps beneath him, panting and shivering.  There’s no way he’s paying attention to the show now.

“More.”

“Ask me.”

“Please can I have more, Master?”

“Say ‘Please fuck me with your fingers, Master’.”

“Please fuck me with your fingers, Master.”

“Say, ‘I’m a filthy slut who needs more, Master’.”

Jared frowns. “I..I..”

“Stop,” Jensen says.  Interesting.  His pet is not a fan of verbal humiliation.  Jensen files that away in his mind as he slides another finger inside Jared and hears his pet’s breath hitch. “Correction: say ‘I’m a good pet and I want you to please me, Master’.”

“I’m good…I’m a good pet…I need…Master.”

A patient man would bring his pet to orgasm, create the impression that the experience is safe and pleasurable.  Unthreatening.  But listening to Jared plead and whine with his ass in the air, Jensen can’t take it.  He pulls his fingers out, tumbles Jared face down over the coffee table—sending the laptop clattering to the floor—and yanks his dick out of his pants, slathering it with lube.

“Wait—“

“Hold still,” Jensen pants, kicking Jared’s legs apart.  God, that part of Jared, flushed pink and shiny wet, worked ever so slightly open, is beckoning him. When his pet attempts to rise off the table, Jensen drops down, covering Jared’s back with his own chest, pressing him flat to the table.  He’s got his dick lined up and nudged up against Jared’s hole before the whining cuts through his red haze of lust and he realizes those aren’t whines of pleasure.

“I’m scared.”

“Hey,” Jensen replies, struggling with control. “It’s okay.  Am I hurting you?”  He can’t help it; he pushes just the tip inside, feeling Jared expand and then clench around him, hot and plush and welcoming.

“Ah!  I…I just…”

“Okay,” Jensen soothes.  With great effort, he holds himself steady. “You’re in control.  I’m stopping.  I’m stopping right here.  It doesn’t go any further, until you say ‘okay’.”

“O-okay?”

“You decide, baby.”

There’s a frozen moment where both men pant quietly in the pause.  Jared feels so good around Jensen, he almost can’t stand it.  He reaches out to stroke his pet’s cock, smiling at Jared’s groan.  His boy is still as hard as a rock, telling Jensen that the fear hasn’t been as strong as the pleasure.

After a few strokes to his cock, Jared begins to moan again, tilt his hips.  He’s moving, small hungry pulses, and it’s the easiest thing in the world for Jensen to grip his boy’s hip and encourage him along.

At the first tiny slide, Jared gasps. “Oh fuck!”

“That’s three,” Jensen whispers.

“I…I need it.  Please!”

“You’re in control.  You want it, good boy?  Let me in.”

Jared groans and spreads his thighs further, then takes Jensen inside with one smooth push backwards.

“That’s my good boy,” Jensen soothes, when what he wants to do is curse and shout. “Such a good boy, taking my cock like that.”

“Fuck me…”

“No baby,” Jensen says. “ _You_ fuck _me_.  You’re in control.  Show me how much you want it.”

There’s another small hesitation, and the Jared shakily slides his hips away.  Jensen’s cock glides back out, glistening and pink, and then Jared is pressing his hips back, taking Jensen to the hilt, making tortured guttural groans at the sensation.

“Such a good boy.  Fuck me, baby.  Fuck yourself on my cock.”

His pet is crazy for it.  Jared rocks back and forth, faster and faster, taking Jensen deeper each time.  His pet is wild with lust, a creature of need and desire. Vision whiting out, soaring on pleasure and control, Jensen hangs on.  He’s got enough of his wits about him to adjust his angle on the down stroke, making Jared shout as he hits his boy’s prostate with each shove inside.

“That’s a good boy.”

“Can I?”

“Ask…nice,” Jensen groans.  He’s going to die.  This is going to kill him.  It’s awesome.

“Please can I come, Master?” Jared shouts.

“Yes,” Jensen grunts and gives up any pretense of Jared being in control.  He’s fucking in, hard and fast, with a death grip on his pet’s hips.

Jared wails intensely, the muscles in his back rippling, his hips humping back desperately.  Jensen pulls out the moment he feels Jared clenching around him, stripes his cock three times, and sprays his come all over Jared’s sweaty ass in ecstasy.  He smiles blearily down at his handiwork, then collapses down, crushing Jared underneath.

A while later, Jensen feels a twinge in his back.  He climbs off Jared, flops down on the couch.  His shirt front and slacks are a sticky mess.

Jared turns his head and rests his cheek on the coffee table.  He regards Jensen with heavy-lidded eyes.

“You’re okay,” Jensen says.  It should be a question.  There should be reassurance.  At minimum, Jensen should wipe the smug, sated smile off his face.

That all sounds like too much work.

“Yes,” Jared says quietly. “So, I guess you’re planning to come on me each time, then.”

“Probably.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re okay,” Jensen soothes.  His mind is coming back online. “You did it.  I’m so proud of you.”

There’s a shiver of pleasure that runs through Jared at the words, but he doesn’t say anything.  Instead, he sits carefully back on his haunches, rolls his shoulders and neck with a wince.

“Would you like to watch the rest,” Jensen offers.

“Shower first, Master?”

Jensen grins.  Said without prompting.  Progress.

He stands and helps Jared to his feet.  Takes his pet’s hand in his own.  Jared offers him a shy smile, eyes downcast.

“Good boy,” Jensen says with satisfaction and they help each other up the stairs.

 


	16. Nocturnal Admission

It hadn't been easy, but Jared had been desperate. Mas--Jensen wasn't a person to be easily deceived.

So Jared had channeled his inner submissive, turning it up full blast, if full blast was how you could describe being quieter, more attentive, more fawning and more affectionate. He had spent the entire rest of the day and all of the evening in that state. The look on Jensen's face--both greedy and triumphant, different from his master's previous mask of friendly comfort--had let Jared know he was on the right track.

It would be wonderful to believe Jensen is really on Jared's side. That Jared can trust him. It takes only one look at Jensen's face for Jared to know he would be a fool to believe that lie.

Master isn't that good of an actor.

It had felt right to be in that state however, natural, even as Jared's gut had churned at the idea of being dishonest with his master.

Oh well. Jared places the guilt and the fear to the side, compartmentalization at its best, and listens. Jensen doesn't snore, but his breathing is slow and steady. Asleep. As well he should be. Three orgasms in one day should have done it.

And Jared feels weird about that last one. He had basically thrown himself at Jensen right at bedtime, begged for his master's cock in his mouth, tears in his eyes. He still isn't sure if the desperation came from the situation he has found himself in, or honest need.

It had been good for him too, but there's a greasy feeling deep inside: Jared hadn't been doing it for pleasure.

Ugh, push it away. Jared can find a low-cost therapist when he gets out of this mess.

Quietly, Jared rolls himself away from Jensen's embrace and sits up. His bare foot comes down on something hard and tiny--his pill, palmed and dropped silently to the floor earlier--and he sweeps it carefully further under the bed.

Across the room, the door is partially open. Jensen couldn't get up to close it, not after Jared deliberately collapsed on top of him earlier in the aftermath, tearfully demanding to be held, the crying only partially feigned.

"Okay but just for a minute," Jensen had slurred, face sated with pleasure.

"Tell me I did good,"Jared had whispered a bit desperately.

"You did good," Jensen had muttered. "I love you."

Jared's heart had hurt at the words. His master had been asleep thirty seconds later.

There's no sound as Jared tiptoes to the door. God bless new construction. The floors may look distressed, vintage, but they are as quiet as the grave. It's a small gap, but Jared squeezes through the door frame soundlessly and heads downstairs.

The laptop is still on the coffee table, and Jared brings up the log in prompt and bites his lip. He's seen Jensen enter the password four times now. Jared's always been good with numbers.

He gets it right on the first try.

Yes, Jensen has Skype. Jared only has one number memorized. He hasn't talked to Chad in a while, but they've been friends since grade school. He's not at all worried about whether or not Chad is home. His stoner friend rarely leaves the house these days.

Jared calls the number. Chad answers and all Jared can see for a moment is a humongous, blue glass water bong, filling the screen. Then a languid hand moves it to the side and Chad's smiling face--his small eyes made even smaller and pink from the pot--is there, familiar and welcome.

"Jay!" Chad booms and Jared curses and fumbles with the volume. "Fuck, man, it's been months. How you doing? Want to come over? I've got Doritos."Chad holds up a fistful to demonstrate, then shoves the chips in his mouth, chewing contentedly.

"Shh,"Jared hisses. "Hi. Listen I need your help."

"Sorry, Jay, I shouldn't be driving. Where are you at? They let you in a club without a shirt?"

"I don't need a ride. Shit, Chad listen. I don't know where I am. I've been kidnapped."

"No fucking way."

"Yes fucking way. I've been missing for over a month."

"Oh. Shit. Want me to call the cops? Wait, where are you?"

"I don't know! Sorry," Jared reaches for calm. Chad needs clear, repetitive instructions. And not just because he's probably high as balls. "Yes, Chad call the cops. Report me missing. I'm assuming no one has done that."

Chad looks sheepish. "Sorry. Just thought you were busy with the new job."

"It's fine." Jared has limited time. He's not going to explain the train-wreck of his life to Chad now. Chad's the kind of friend you tell about the good times. Jared doesn't expect him to be much help for the bad shit. But right now Chad is all he has.

"So are you being held for ransom or what? They should know you're broke as shit. I mean, if you're going to kidnap someone it should be a celebrity. I would totally kidnap Jennifer Laurence, am I right?"

"It's complicated," Jared hedge, not interested in getting drawn into a long, meandering discussion about celebrity stalking. "Tell the cops I'm in a big house in the middle of some forest. That's basically all I've got. Not terribly helpful I know. The guy holding me captive is named Jensen."

"What does he want you for?"

"It doesn't matter. Stuff."

"Is he going to harvest your organs and cannibalize you?"

"Dammit, Chad, no! Focus! It's just stuff. Sex...stuff. It doesn't matter."

"Is he hot?" Chad asks.

"That's not important. He wants me to be his personal sex slave,"Jared growls.

"Shit! But, is he hot?"

"Yes," Jared answers, rolling his eyes. "He wants me to be his personal assistant basically. But with kinky sex."

"That's some 50 Shades of Gray bullshit right there," Chad says, mouth hanging open in awe, Doritos particles still flecking his teeth. "You don't wanna?"

"No," Jared says hesitantly. But he frowns. If he had been able to apply for the job from the safety of his home? If he'd known he could leave at any time? If he was sure Jensen would respect his boundaries, not push him into a dark place where he was lost and afraid? If he had ever really had a choice?

"Dude, you're not tied up," Chad says proudly, as if he's just figuring it out. "You're six and a half feet tall and built like The Rock. Can't you just, I dunno, punch the shit out of him and jack his car?"

"I can't."

"Fuck. Right. You and your policy on never throwing the first punch. You know, being a gentleman and shit is how Alexander Hamilton got killed."

"I can't even fathom how your brain works," Jared says. But he does understand. Chad knows about the promise Jared made to his dad, way back in middle school.

Chad grins. "You love me. Sure you don't want to punch your way out? Is hot guy a ninja?"

"Not a ninja,"Jared says firmly. "Look, I have to go. Call the cops, please."

"You got it man. Shit, be safe." Chad makes a peace sign, then kisses his fingers.

"Thanks," Jared says. He hangs up and erases the evidence of the call. Logs off and closes the laptop.

Then he sits in the dark, letting his eyes adjust. He just took a big risk, calling Chad like that. Who knows if it will even make a difference. He's stuck in a house with a seductive sadist. If Jensen finds out...

"Jared."

Shit, Jensen's awake and looking for him.

Quickly Jared stands and shuffles over to the patio doors, putting his back to the living room. Outside, through the glass, he can see the same stag as the first night. The animal lifts his head from his grazing and regards Jared with a curious dark eye.

"What are you doing?" Jensen says. He sounds cross and suspicious. Shit.

"Bathroom,"mumbles Jared. He reaches out and tugs at the patio door sloppily, keeping his movements clumsy and slow. "Wanna use the bathroom but the door is locked."

Jensen reaches out and Jared allows himself to be turned around and examined. He keeps his eyes dull and heavy, mouth slack. He hopes to God he's faking it right.

"That's not the bathroom," Jensen says. His blond hair is in a spiky tangle, but his green eyes are as sharp as ever.

"No? There's a deer in the bathroom. Won't let me in."

Jensen peers around him and smiles fondly. "So there is. Let's get you to another bathroom, okay pet?"

"S'okay."

Jared allows himself to be lead up the stairs. He pees obediently for Jensen, then snuggles back into bed, pretending to be uninterested in how Jensen re-secures the room, locking the door. Jensen climbs back into the bed and Jared slides into his Master's arms, garnering a soft, pleased sigh from his master.

It feels good. It feels like home. Jared tries to relax into the warmth and comfort and sends up a silent prayer: If Chad isn't able to help, please don't let Jensen be as bad as Jared fears.

Sleep is a long time coming.


	17. Hot for Teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for Danny, Donny, Joey, Jonathan and Jordan.

Jared only gets a few restless hours of sleep. He's miserable, exhausted and afraid. But despite his fear and sleeplessness, Jensen is once again gone when Jared blinks open his dry, sticky eyes in the morning light, as if he slept peacefully and deeply instead of tossed and turned.

Waiting is a terror. Jared's mind cycles through the possibilities. He can see Jensen finding out about the call, face frightening in his fury, bringing down pain and wrath, tormenting Jared. He can see the police bursting in, Jensen handcuffed and on his knees, face a portrait of hurt and betrayal. Jared won't press charges, not if Jensen leaves him alone. He can see Chad forgetting the whole conversation, or the police being unable to find the house, and at the end of the week, Jensen holding the car door open, smiling his shark's smile.

_Of course I'll drive you home._

It's this time before, this waiting, that hurts so much. Jared's gut churns with anxiety. He wants Master. It's irrational, this need for comfort from the person he doesn't trust and just betrayed. His kidnapper. Doesn't matter. He wants it anyway.

Downstairs, Jensen is cooking breakfast. But Jared stands arrested on the bottom step. Instead of the casual slacks and shirts Jensen has been wearing, his master is dressed sharply in a suit and tie. The fabric is rich blue, with a sheen, well cut and expensive. Jensen looks gorgeous in it, puttering around the kitchen in dress shoes shined to a gleam.

"Where are you going?" Jared asks in dismay. This is it. Jensen's decided to leave him here.

"Nowhere," Jensen says airily.

Or he knows. He knows about the call. Jared's heart is pounding.

"Your clothes," Jared says dumbly.

"Oh," Jensen says and smiles mischievously. "I wanted to play a little game after breakfast. You in?"

Jared nods. The relief he feels is overwhelming. Jensen can't know what Jared did. His master still wants him.

The pillow is still next to the table and Jared sinks down into position.

"Ready to start?" Jensen asks, but it's not really a question. Master looks pleased, thrilled, eyes shining. It's the face of someone who knows he's won.

Jared nods again. In that moment he knows that whatever happens today, he's going to play along. Throwing himself into the role, losing himself in the moment, this is all he has. If he gives Master everything he wants, there will be no suspicion. Jensen wants Jared's capitulation too badly to suspect betrayal.

"Good boy," Master says, voice warm with approval, and Jared feels like dirt. He doesn't deserve it, the praise. Oh God, his heart is still pounding. Not now, not now. He's not even anywhere near the door. He can't be having a panic attack now.

Fuck, he is.

A wave of fear rises up and swallows Jared whole.

Dimly, he's aware of what's happening: his panting breaths, the ache in his chest, the whining and the gasping noises echoing in his ears. He rides it out, long moments of agony, vision static-y like an old TV screen. It feels like dying.

"Hey, Jared. Breathe, breathe."

That's Master's voice. Jared grapples for calm.

"G-God..."

"Breathe, baby. I've got you."

There's gentle hands, holding him up, pulling him into an embrace. More tender nonsense whispered in his ear, barely understood.

He's not alone.

He's not dying.

Jared breathes.

Later, Jared lies on the floor, tears leaking down his cheeks. Jensen sits next to him, stroking his back slowly.

"You okay?"

"Y-yeah."

"What brought that on?"

"Didn't sleep well," Jared hedges, squeezing his eyes shut, hot tears on his cheeks. "I think...maybe last night...I got up? I don't know."

"You did," Jensen confirms.

"Yeah. Didn't sleep well."

"Yesterday was intense," Master soothes, that fake-ish concern in his voice. Normally it puts Jared's back up, but today he'll take it. "You probably need to take both pills at night."

So Jared can be drugged and compliant, unlikely to attempt escape. Because Master thrilled to the things he did yesterday, the state he put Jared in.

But Jared just nods and says, "Sounds good."

"Okay," Jensen says tenderly, and there's affection in his voice, not just cunning, and Jared squeezes his eyes shut tighter. "Can you sit up?"

Helped into his previous position, Jared shivers. His skin is clammy with sweat. He expects Jensen to go back to cooking, but instead Jared is pulled into an embrace.

"Your suit," Jared gasps. He's covered in sweat, tears and snot.

"Forget the suit," Jensen says, pressing Jared's face into his shoulder. "You need me. I'm here. Let me hold you."

"O-okay."

Comforted, Jared lies in his master's arms. It's okay to pretend, for a moment. That Jensen is a good guy and Jared can trust him. That his declarations of love are real. That everything is going to be okay.

Only a fool would believe, but it's okay to pretend.

A while later, calmer and with a clean face, Jared lets Jensen feel him breakfast by hand. He sits still and attentive, an obedient pet, as he nibbles bacon from Jensen's elegant fingers. It's okay. He's okay. Just be. Fall into the role. Turn it all off.

"Ready?" Jensen says after he does the breakfast dishes. Jared is wiping down the counters. Any task to take his mind off the agony of waiting. He can feel the tension ramping back up again.

"Not really," Jared mutters and Jensen grins."What are we doing?"

"Role play," Jensen says. He gestures to the couch. There's a pile of clothes there. Jared hadn't even noticed. "Get dressed."

"Seriously?"

"Go ahead," Jensen says indulgently. But he's got his shark's smile on.

The shirt is small, white and cropped. As Jared lifts it up, the logo on the front is revealed: N.K.O.T.B.

"New Kids On The Block?!"

"What? What does that mean?" Jensen's face is confused.

"You tell me, you bought it!"

"I got it at a thrift shop. What are New Kids On The Block?"

"It's a boy band. Well, I mean, they're old now. Not boys anymore. But same crap boy band music. You didn't know?"

"No," Jensen says, smiling. "But it's perfect. Put it on."

With difficulty, Jared shimmies into the shirt. The fit is uncomfortably tight, coming to a halt right below Jared's chest, revealing the sharp lines of his stomach. It's only once it's on and Jensen is grinning like a madman, green eyes bright with lust, does Jared realize with heady embarrassment he's standing in the living room, naked from the waist down, clad only in a crop top that's straining at the seams.

"Nice," Jensen approves. "Oh, come on, move your hands. You're just making it worse. Put on the pants if you must."

Jared snatches up the pants. No underwear in sight. Just some acid washed denim, just as tight as the shirt. Jared shimmies into these as well, face red, as Jensen claps and whistles.

"Ugh, stop it."

The denim is strangling Jared''s dick.

"I'm enjoying myself," Jensen says. "Now the last piece. Put it on backwards."

At least embarrassment is a distraction from anxiety. The last pice of clothing is an old Cowboys ball cap. Jared puts it on with the bill facing backwards and grimaces.

"Nice."

"Your fetish is dressing me up like a douchebag?"

"I hadn't really realized I had any sort of clothes fetish," Jensen says honestly. "The humiliation is nice, though. Okay, ready for your assignment?"

"Make me sing and I punch you."

"Nothing that dire," Jensen laughs. "I'm going to go set up in the home office. Give me five minutes. Then come in. I want you to be as sullen and disagreeable as possible. Oh, knowing you, you won't be able to maintain it for long, but that's all right. Just as long as you start off surly."

"Come in dressed as douche, act like douche. Got it."

"Address me as 'Mr. Ackles'."

"Is that your last name?" Jared asks. Such information would have been useful last night. He immediately feels a pulse of guilt at the thought.

"Yes, pet. Five minutes."

Jared paces back and forth a bit, counting in his head. He times his breaths with his counting, reaching for calm. He's nervous about the scene. Everything he and Jensen have done together, Jared has made it out the other side. He hasn't ever been seriously hurt. Jensen promised to take it slow. To trust. It's foolish.

But Jared's has to believe, however tenuously, in that trust right now. It's the only thing grounding him.

The door swings open under Jared's sweaty hand and he enters the room, limping a bit in the tight pants. Jensen is sitting at the big mahogany desk, hands folded and fingers steepled under his chin. His eyes narrow as Jared enters.

"I see you're not the type who bothers to knock," Jensen says frostily. "Honestly, Jared, you're sorely in need of a lesson in manners."

Shit, Jared thinks, cringing. He opens his mouth to apologize, then notices Jensen furrowing his brows in exasperation. Oh. Duh. He's two seconds into a task and already sucking at it.

"Door was open," Jared makes himself say, shrugging, reaching for what he hopes is an insolent tone. Is Master pretending to be Jared's boss? Jared's never worked a white collar job in his life. "What's the big deal, Mr. Ackles?"

"Your grades are the big deal," Jensen snaps and now Jared gets it. Okay, Mr. Ackles. Principal or teacher? Jared decides on teacher: he can't remember any specific porn about fucking a principal.

"It's your class," Jared says, rolling his eyes. "If I'm failing, it's probably because you suck at your job, Teach."

Jensen's mouth tightens with what looks like real annoyance. "Come here, Jared."

Trying to turn the limp into a swagger, Jared comes to stand before the desk. It's a position that's actually sickeningly familiar--different teachers, different classes, same shame--and it takes a lot for Jared to meet his master's eyes with any sort of defiance.

"Address me properly or I will have you expelled," Jensen says sternly.

"Okay. Sorry Mr. Ackles."

There's a prolonged moment where Jensen stares at Jared. It's searching, uncomfortable, and Jared finds himself breaking eye contact, scuffing at the carpet with his bare toes.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" Jensen says softly.

Shit. Oh shit. Jared's heart starts racing again. Is this about the call? Is this role play just a sick excuse to mess with with Jared's mind?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jared croaks, voice shaky.

Jensen reaches into the desk drawer and withdraws a pile of papers. They're folded, some crumpled, grimy at the edges. Blue ink and clumsy red crayon. Jared knows what they are.

"I said, did you think I wouldn't find out?"

"Find out what?" Jared snaps, so relieved this is just a game that he puts extra bite into his words.

"You haven't been doing the reading," Jensen says, slapping a hand down on the papers.

"I have been!" Jared cries, jerked out of the game. A month of nothing to do but read. He honestly never thought he'd see those stupid pop quizzes again. But he's suddenly overcome with a fierce need for Jensen to know that he tried his best.

"Every answer wrong," Master says angrily. Jared wants to curl in on himself and die of shame. "It takes a special type of insolence to fail a test this completely. I mean, even random chance would have guaranteed you answer at least one or two correctly. That can only mean you're doing this on purpose. You are failing on purpose."

"I'm not."

"I'm sorry?"

"I said, I'm not doing it on purpose, Mr. Ackles."

"Fine," Jensen answers. "Prove it."

He opens the drawer again. Inside is a fresh sheet of vellum. Jared might actually be sick just from seeing that blue ink.

"Prove it to me. Because there's only two possible answers: you are either incredibly stupid or incredibly defiant."

Jared's eyes are watering, but he struggles to push the tears back down. This is just pretend. It doesn't matter that it cuts so close to the truth.

But Master's next words threaten to undo Jared utterly.

"Jared, I don't for a moment believe that you are stupid," Jensen says softly. Then he slides the paper and a pen across the table. "Complete the test."

There's no other chair and the desk is low enough that bending over is awkward. Jared grips the pen and folds himself down, staring at the questions. It takes a minute for his teary vision to clear and to actually read the words. It's a short compilation of all the tests he's taken in Sir's basement, a summary of sorts.

He knows every question. He knows every answer.

He's going to fail.

Not crying isn't even an option. Jared wipes at his eyes before his tear drops threaten the paper. He moves quietly through each question, pen scritching at the paper. Jensen stands and steps behind him, hovering silently as Jared writes. His master reaches out and strokes soothingly at the exposed skin between the crop top and the jeans, fingers tracing along Jared's spine. It feels good. It just makes the tears come quicker.

"I don't know why you have such a bad attitude," Jensen says soothingly, stroking gently. "You're such a beautiful boy. You have so many talents. Why are you wasting them?"

Jared sniffles. He runs back through the questions, making changes. He knows the answers. He isn't sure. It must be that one. No, that one. The wording is tricky. Dammit.

"Quit stalling," Master says sternly.

"Done," Jared gasps. He pushes the test back across the desk and stands up, neck aching. Now he gets to wait, wiping at his face, embarrassed and heartsick, as Jensen sits in front of him and ticks his pen down the test, checking each answer.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ackles," Jared tries.

"Hush."

Jared's heartbeat is very loud in the silence. It's pounding in his ears. Finally Jensen looks up, disappointment clearly written on his features.

"Come here."

"I tried!"

"You are rude, defiant and disobedient. Come here!"

Jared shuffles around the desk to stand in front of Jensen. Oh God, what is Jensen going to make him do?

"Please, Mr. Ackles," Jared whispers.

"Take your pants down."

Blushing, Jared does. He has to wriggle to get the jeans off his hips. As he does, Master's face cracks into a suppressed smile and it makes Jared feel a little better.

It's a game. It's not real. It's just a game.

"Bend over my lap and put your hands behind your back."

"I'm a little old to get a spanking," Jared cracks, because he's feeling a tiny bit better about the situation. He seriously regrets the remark when His master reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a paddle. It's smooth wood, oblong. It's the spitting image of an old-school disciplinary paddle, like the ones you see in movies about fraternities.

Holy shit.

"Bend over."

Shrugging, Jared does. He has a high pain threshold. That first night he and Jensen were together, the paddle and the cane were the easiest things to bear. He kind of wishes corporal punishment hadn't gone out of style. It might have made all those disappointed teachers feel better to get their licks in. Jared certainly deserved it.

As if he can read his mind, Jensen says, "Do you think you deserve this, Jared?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because...because I don't learn."

"I thought we just established your intelligence wasn't the issue. Why do you deserve this?"

"Because I'm bad."

"You're bad? Are you deliberately being bad?"

This is a level of personal analysis Jared doesn't want to get into. No, he's not doing anything on purpose. He is trying. But this...dumbness, Jared guesses, is inexplicable. He doesn't know why. His senior English teacher said 'learning disability.' He just doesn't know.

"Are you trying to be bad?" Jensen repeats.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Jared sneers.

Whack! The paddle comes down on Jared's bare ass. Master isn't holding back. Jared grits his teeth. He can bear this. Whack, whack! The hits come in quick succession, and the skin on Jared's ass is starting to burn. He counts silently, staring off into space. This isn't fun, but he can do it.

Ten strikes in and Jensen pauses. His hand drifts down to caress Jared's burning ass, his thighs, before drifting up to scratch blissfully at Jared's scalp. It feels so good.

"Are you bad, Jared?" Master asks quietly.

"Of course," Jared chokes. Stupid question.

"You don't seem bad to me," Jensen continues, still stroking. "A little confused, a little sad. Lost. But a good boy. You're holding so still for me. Aren't you a good boy?"

"No."

Jensen sighs and starts up again. Whack! There's a steady stream of blows, and Jared can actually feel his irritated skin getting hotter and hotter. He has to fight back the urge to squirm, it's becoming unbearable. He fights the urge to cover his ass with his hands.

"Are you bad?" Jensen ask again, during a second lull. Jared is panting. He feels like his skin is blistered right off his bones.

"I--I don't know."

"Are you doing this on purpose?"

"No."

"Are you a good boy?"

"N--no."

The paddling continues. Jared begins to shift and groan. There's some flicker of...something, just over the horizon. Something peaceful, beautiful. He reaches for it, straining.

"No," Jensen says, putting the paddle on the desk. "You don't get to go there. Not until I'm satisfied."

There's a flutter of sound and suddenly a piece of paper right in front of Jared's face. "Grab that."

He had to unclasp his hands to do so, as he's straightening the paper, and wiping sweat from his eyes, Jared hears the click of the lube cap. He barely has a moment to breathe before Jensen's spearing a finger deep inside Jared's ass. It's quickly joined by a second.

"Ah! Wait!"

"No."

The fingers pump inside him, relentless. It feels sweet, in contrast to the painful sting on Jared's cheeks. He can't help but tilt his hips up to ask for more.

"Oh!"

"What's the answer to question one, Jared?"

What? What are they even talking about? Oh, the test! Jared looks down at the paper. The words swim in front of his eyes, as he grunts with pleasure, rubbing his cock against Jensen's legs. But he can find the answer quickly enough.

"The answer is 'a'."

"Good boy. That's correct."

Jared whines and spreads his thighs as much as the jeans allow. He wants more, more. He wants to be full. Three fingers, a cock, a fist. Anything. As he rubs again, cock on the fine fabric of Jensen's slacks, Jensen yanks out his fingers and slaps Jared's ass, making the already abused flesh sing.

"Don't hump my leg like a dog."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ackles." Jared tries not to wriggle. His reward is a surge of those clever fingers deep inside his hole. He nips at his own lips, trying to stay still.

"Question two?"

"'C'."

They go down the list. For each correct answer, Jared gets stroked deep inside. On the fifth question, Master adds a third finger. Any time Jared wriggles or shifts, he gets a crack to the ass.

"You're done," Master finally says. Jared is panting, staring into space, paper dangling from his fingers. God, he wants to come so bad. He wants to get fucked. He can clearly remember his time bent over the coffee table, ecstasy radiating from that dark, secret place.

"Done?"

"97%. Not bad. You could do better."

"Yes, Mr. Ackles."

"You did well. Such a good boy. You know," Jensen continues, voice speculative, and Jared just wants to scream, 'let me come, already',"I don't think it's defiance. I think it's self-esteem. You don't think you deserve success."

Whatever. Jared waggles his ass. Put a dick in it, already. He's ready for this game to be over.

"Tell me you're a good boy."

"What?"

Jensen sighs. "Stand up. Take off your pants. Bend over the desk."

Eagerly, Jared does so. Then he yelps as Jensen begins to resume to smack Jared's abused, reddened ass.

"Ow!"

"Here," Jensen says, shoving his fingers in Jared's mouth."Suck on these if you can't be quiet about it."

Aroused and in pain, Jared sucks at the fingers in his mouth eagerly. He feels a strike come down, this time on the tender untouched skin of his thighs, but it feels...different. Transmuted. As if the fingers in his mouth change the pain into pure sensation. He moans.

"What a response," Jensen murmurs. "God, if I could only get my dick in your mouth and spank you at the same time. I wonder..."

Less talking, more fucking. Jared doesn't even feel guilty when he bites down on Jensen's hand. The yelp he hears is immediately followed by three hard smacks to Jared's thighs, followed by fingers in his ass again. Jared arches his back. He may look like a cat in heat doing so, but damn if he doesn't feel as desperate as one.

"Want your teacher to fuck you?"

Jared garbled an affirmative around Jensen's fingers. Laughing, Jensen removes his hand from Jared's mouth.

"Want me to fuck you?"

"Please fuck me, Mr. Ackles."

"Pull yourself apart and show me how much you want it."

No problem. Jared reaches behind and pulls his cheeks open. It feels lewd, what with Master's fingers still plunging in and out of his ass.

"Now say, I'm a good boy'."

"What?"

"Don't be dense," Jensen snaps, yanking his fingers away. He pulls out his cock and slathers it with lube. He places the tip up against Jared's hole, but smacks Jared's ass when he tries to shove back onto it."You can bend over to be spanked and fingered, but you can't say four little words?"

Jared thought he was beyond embarrassment, but he flushes at the words.

"Say it, and say it now, or I'm going to leave you open and aching, bent over the desk, wishing you were writhing on my cock."

"I'm a good boy!" Jared shouts, and then screams when Jensen pushes inside him with one long, scraping shove.

"Keep saying it or I'm going to stop," Jensen hisses, fucking hard and fast.

"I'm a good boy!"

"Keep going."

Pleasure is lighting a path up Jared's spine. There's that place, just over the horizon, and suddenly Jared is there. His entire skin feels electric, pulses of ecstasy radiating from where his master is deep within his body, waves of sensation. Jared rides it, panting out some string of words he knows he's supposed to be saying, word that have become sound only, not meaning.

"You flying, pet?" Master asks and Jared has no idea what they're talking about. He nods an affirmative and keeps repeating that string of words.

"Good boy...imma good...good boy..."

"So good," Jensen gasps, rhythm stuttering. Suddenly that lovely, galloping cadence, Master driving in and out of Jared's ass, is over. Jared whines, and jerks his hips, desperate to get it back.

"Wait...ugh, wait!"

"More please, Master, please!"

Jensen pulls away, dropping back down into the chair with a gasp. Jared feels hot and open and wet. Empty. He wiggles his ass and whines.

"Sorry. I came."

Then Jensen is turning Jared around and pulling him back over his lap, shoving three fingers back inside Jared's hungry hole, pumping them in and out. He shoves his other hand against Jared's panting mouth, three fingers stroking Jared's tongue, and Jared sucks hard as he lifts his ass. Full. It feels amazing.

"Okay, hump away," Jensen pants out and the soft fabric of Jensen's pants--cool and impersonal--shouldn't feel as amazing as it does to Jared's overheated skin. Jared rocks his hips, cock hard and dripping beneath him, fingers in his ass and his mouth, pistoning back and forth. Time stretches out and away from Jared. He's just this thing, this feeling, panting animal, riding on bliss.

"Come, pet," Master whispers and Jared does, even though he doesn't want to. It's drawn out, just this full body shiver that goes on and on. It feels like this will never end, either.

"Good boy."


	18. The Boss

"Tim, how are you--"

"You haven't been checking in."

The voice on the phone is flat. Humorless. Tim at his most disapproving. Jensen steps easily across the deck, enjoying the warm sun on his face. It was easy to keep his phone calls private, when his darling pet was too agoraphobic to follow him outside.

"I missed one call. What's the big deal?"

"You never miss check in."

"I missed one. It's fine. When you were doing this job, you'd be off the grid for months at a time."

"That's me. I'm a rebel. You're you. Careful to a fault. And never unpredictable or erratic."

Jensen chafes a bit at the description. "You make me sound dull."

"Reliable is the word I would use."

"What's the problem?" Jensen asks impatiently. "I'm having a good time and I thought you might want in on it."

"You want to share Jared?"

"No," Jensen answers mildly, wanting to put his fist through the wall at the mere idea of ''sharing'. "But there's something I want to try, I think it would be really good for him, but I need another--"

"You want to use me as a prop for your super happy fun sex times."

"Well, when you put it that way maybe I changed my mind."

"Normally I'd be all over that," Tim says and Jensen can practically see the sardonically arched brow that would accompany Tim's dry words. "But we have more pressing matters. As of yesterday, Jared has officially been listed as a missing person by the police."

"Why now?" Jensen asks, mystified. It makes no sense. He had done his homework. Poured over Jared's emails, phone records, social media profiles. Jared had few ties; his disappearance would have garnered little notice. His pet was an orphan, no close relatives, few friends. Just that one deadbeat stoner school chum he still kept in touch with...

"Also, the Pellegrino family is on the move," Tim continues,  as Jensen began to feel as if the ground beneath him had become slick and unstable. "No real movement or chatter for months, and now I've got surveillance of some hired thugs meeting up at one of their clubs. Bunch of guys with gorilla arms and sloping brows. Hired muscle."

"They have no idea where we are," Jensen replies, mind whirling feverishly. Every family had informants among the police...

"And the cherry on this fuck-us-all sundae is this: the Boss wants to see you."

"What? Why?" Jensen sputters defensively. He could handle this.

"It's a good idea actually. Safe. Come in."

"I've been on my own for months," Jensen retorts, crossing his arms, although Tim can't see his indignation. "Trusted. Allowed to make my own rules and accept the jobs I want. Why now?"

"I don't know," Tim sighs. "Maybe it's because you went on vacation--which you never do--made a bunch of unsanctioned kills, abducted some kid, took another vacation--again, you're a tight-ass workaholic--and now instead of helping clean up the mess you made you're playing house with your abductee!"

"I'm not coming in."

"Don't be stupid."

"Is _she_ still living there?"

"Of course she is, she's family."

Jensen snarls. "She's a menace."

"You only hate her because she's the only one who can outsmart you and outthink you on a regular basis. Rise to the challenge."

"I'm not coming in."

"I don't know what he did to deserve the two of you," Tim comments. "There must be some damned orphanage sitting on a hell-mouth. Father Flannery's Home for Wayward, Psychotic Youth."

Jensen stews, pacing back and forth, hand tightening on his phone. He was being childish, he knew. And if he didn't come in, he would be brought in.  Sooner or later.

"How's my boy?" Tim asks gently after a tense, silent moment.

"My boy!"

"Infatuation is making you come unhinged," Tim retorts and Jensen cringes. "Are you going to be smart about this?"

"I can handle it."

"Your funeral. I'll tell the Boss. In the meantime you might want to sit Jared's ass down in a chair and have a conversation with him. Because there's only one person who might have compromised you. You know it and I know it."

"Shit."

Jensen had already come to that conclusion. But hearing Tim confirm it didn't make it any easier. He'd known Jared was smart. Just smart enough to outmaneuver his master and blunder into putting them both at risk.

"Give your boy my regards," Tim says and then the phone clicks silent in Jensen's ear.

Looking up, Jensen can see his pet watching through the glass of the doors. His face is nervous, needy, not necessarily the face of guilt, more the expression of a dog waiting for his owner to arrive home. Jared wants Jensen back in the house.

Sighing, Jensen fits a placid smile onto his face. He felt angry and betrayed, but he drops his shoulders and gIves a little wave. Jared waves back, as if he has nothing to hide.

 Stepping back inside, Jensen groans inwardly. It looks like his vacation was over.


	19. The Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we enter the home stretch, casual reminder that I'm an asshole. :D

Jared groans and shakes his aching head.  He can’t remember…Master had put his hand on Jared’s neck, then a sharp sting and…nothing.  He tries to move, to stand from his slumped sitting position, but neither his arms nor legs cooperate.

Bound. Jared shakes off the lethargy with a thrill of terror.  He’s bound hand and foot to the kitchen chair.

“Finally awake,” Jensen says. He’s slouched over by the table, hands in his pockets. He looks pissed. There’s a pile of…things on the table and—Jared looks away.  He doesn’t want to see.  He looks out the patio doors instead.  Night has fallen outside.  Inside, the lighting is bright and harsh and unforgiving.

“Look at me,” Jensen commands.

“What is this?” Jared shoots back.  It shouldn’t be possible, but Jensen knows.  Jared can see he knows.  Still, playing dumb and going on the offensive is all Jared’s got. “You said—“

“I know.”

“Huh?”

“And what’s more, you know I know.  It explains your recent behavior.”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Jensen says coldly. “You may not be able to fill out a McDonald’s job application with any finesse, but you’re not an idiot.  I commend you on getting a message to the outside world.  Even if it probably put us both in danger.”

“I wanted to go home,” Jared says.  Sweat has broken out on every inch of his skin.  He twists his wrists, testing.  It feels like cuffs, leather and metal, heavy duty.  A quick glance down confirms his ankles are trussed the same way.

Don’t freak out, not now.  This trapped feeling, Jared hates it.  Hates being restrained.

He looks Jensen in the eye, shaky and panicked, and suddenly—he’s calm.  This is it.  The sword hovering over their heads, the other shoe waiting to drop.  Jensen promising to be a nice guy and Jared wanting to believe it, despite evidence to the contrary.

Now neither of them has to pretend.

“You put us in danger,” Jensen repeats, voice low and dangerous. “I wasn’t kidding about you being a wanted man.  Any information you give to the police, you can bet the Pellegrino family has it now.  What did you tell your idiot friend?”

“Nothing,” Jared says dully.  A vague description of the house and Jensen’s first name, which might not even be real for all Jared knows. “I just told him to report me missing.  I mean, it’s not like I know where I am or who I’m with.  Who are you anyway, Jensen?”

That shy, uncertain expression hovers on Jensen’s face, coming and going.  Like he wants to keep up the charade or perhaps he’s just grown used to playing pretend.  It’s always irritated Jared.  It pricks at his sympathy, his pity, while at the same time sending a chill up his back, his instincts screaming at him that it can’t possibly be real.

Jensen raped and tortured him and enjoyed it.  Then he rescued Jared, isolated him and terrified him.  Groomed him and spent time with him, taught him to enjoy pleasure and pain.  Taught him to trust enough to fly under Jensen’s command.

The least the fucker can do is not lie about it.

“I made a mistake,” Jensen says finally, smile wiped from his face and Jared guesses his tormentor is going to join him on the honesty train. “I had a plan.  What I wanted.  How I wanted it.  I should have stuck to it.”

“Why didn’t you?” Jared lets his eyes drift back to the pile of implements on the table.  He’s more numb than terrified.  Maybe it’s shock. 

Or maybe he’s been lulled into believing Jensen will never truly hurt him.

“Tim suggested another approach with you.  If I had been him, it probably would have worked.  He’s a kinder, gentler master.”

“Who’s Tim?” Jared asks.

“Tim.  The guy who kept you for me in the basement.”

“Sir,” Jared whispers. A rough finger on the side of his face.  A person who wouldn’t let Jared be free but, what, was willing to try and persuade Jensen to suppress his true sadism?

“I beg your pardon?”

“He never told me his name.  Just said to call him ‘Sir’.”

“That bastard,” Jensen fumes and it’s almost funny, once Jared takes a minute and fully understands.  That by using that honorific, Sir placed a claim on him.  In that squalor of a basement prison, Sir made a hidden promise to protect and care for Jared, as if he was Jared’s master.

“He was looking out for me.”

“He was possessive of something that wasn’t even his property!”

“I’m property?”

“Yes,” Jensen says coldly. “My boy.  My slave.”

“That’s illegal.  And immoral.”

“I already told you I was an immoral man,” Jensen retorts. “Tim suggested I try to ‘woo’ you. Try persuasion instead of force.  Temper my approach to you.  I’ve spent the past few days exercising extreme restraint.”

Jared looks dully back over at the table.  The gas mask is there, piled next to the flogger. “You had that.  The mask.  You had that with you this whole time.”

“Jared—“

“You weren’t ‘tempering’ anything!  When were you planning to use this on me?!”

“Perhaps never,” Jensen shouts back. “Things were going well!  We were both getting what we needed!  I wouldn’t have minded drawing up a personal assistant contract, signing you up for medical and dental, pretending the job was respectable and legal!  It could have worked!”

“You were pushing,” Jared responds tiredly. “You were always pushing for more, pushing me beyond what I could handle.  Would you have honored my wishes if I didn’t want to do something?”

“Everything I have done has been for you.”

“No!  It’s been to get me where you wanted me to be.  Everything has been for you!  What you want!”

“I made you feel good!” Jensen shouted. “I pushed you?! I was catering to you!  I love you, Jared!”

“No.”

“Yes, I love you.”

“You can’t feel love.  Frankly, I’m convinced you’re a sociopath.”

“How many times do I have to say the words?”

“Love is acceptance and…and space,” Jared says fiercely. “You don’t love me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Space.  Everyone has this bubble around them.  Who they are, what they want.  If you love someone, you don’t try to change that, or…invade it.  You wait to be let in.  You respect who they are and what they need.  You may think that I’m some loser, that I can’t hold down a decent job.  That I sucked at school.  And that I have low self-esteem because of it.  Well, I may be a failure at a lot of things but I know what love is.  _I had it_.  I had that acceptance and I had that space and I will never confuse something else with what I know to be true.  Love isn’t forcing someone to accept life on their terms!”

It was everything Jared had wanted to believe, every time Jensen said it.  Love.  But he had never bought into Jensen’s soft declarations.  Because someone who truly loved him would have driven him home, helped him get back on his feet, let him make his own choices.  Love wasn’t lies and manipulation.

Jensen’s face looks wrecked.  Anger and frustration chase each other across his features.  Then suddenly, his brow smooths, a light comes into his eyes and that infuriating, cocky smile turns up the corners of his lips.

“Then,” Jensen says slowly. “You love me.”

Jared stares. “What?”

“All this time you’ve known me,” Jensen says. “You haven’t tried to change me.  Oh yes, you’ve set boundaries for yourself—tried to, anyway—but you haven’t made any demands on me.  You accept me for who I am.  You give me space.  You love me.”

 _No. No_.  It had been weakness, or fear, Jared assumed.  But all of a sudden Jared could see it.  The way he had carved out a space for Jensen to be.

“Oh, shit.”

“That’s four,” Jensen continues, smiling triumphantly. “You do.  You love me.  That’s part of the reason my saying the words makes you uncomfortable.  Because whether I can truly feel love or not isn’t the issue.  Every time I say it, I’m echoing what’s in your heart.”

Jared blinks, mouth hanging open.  Then he shuts it and looks away, miserable.

Jensen laughs. “And your loyalty!  I mean, you’re still friends with the human equivalent of a dirty kitchen sponge.  Once someone’s in your heart, they stay there, isn’t that right?”

“Shut up,” Jared whispers weakly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make you say it.  Especially now that I know I can say it for you! Ah, this is a relief! We can finish out our vacation, and then I can take you home.  There was no need for all this drama.”

“Home?” Jared asks.

“I have a place being configured for you,” Jensen explains. “A nice quiet house with a nice, large, sound-proofed basement.”

“I can’t love you from a cage!” Jared hisses angrily.

“Oh, the imagery!” Jensen crows.  He palms the front of his slacks and grins. “I would very much like you to love me from a cage.”

Stepping over to Jared, Jensen straddles his pet’s lap and sinks down, putting them nearly nose to nose.  Head held in Jensen’s two hands, Jared can’t turn away.

“You want what you had the first night we met,” Jared says quietly.

“Yes.  Best night of my life. I was trying to get you to agree to it.  Let’s face it, to trick you.  I shouldn’t have tried.  I want to take you.  I want to make you enjoy it.  Force you. That’s who I am.”

“Will you still want it, now that you know me?” Jared whispers. “Now that you know I have feelings for you, that I’m a real person who’s really scared and hurt?”

“Of course,” Jensen retorts. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you.  I want you back beneath me, crying and begging.  Why settle?”

“Go ahead, then,” Jared says.  He looks Jensen in the eyes. “Go ahead.  See if you still like it.”

“The whole point of this is that I don’t need your permission,” Jensen snorts. He observes Jared’s angry eyes, the challenge in his glare, and shrugs. “No time like the present, I guess.”

Jared jerks his head away when Jensen leans in for a kiss.

“Okay,” Jensen laughs.  He stands up, dusts off his slacks. “I don’t have you in the best configuration.  No crosses or benches here.  And I don’t have all my toys.  Still, I can make do.  Do you remember the rules?”

“No screaming. You like begging.  Don’t swear,” Jared mutters.

“Be polite,” Jensen reminds his pet. “Strange, I thought I’d be taking my anger out on you.  I felt so betrayed.  But now…I just feel good.  I like it much better when we’re being honest.”

“Yippee.”

“You can be honest, too,” Jensen says softly. “That night, you said it was the best sex you’d ever had.  It was never just me alone.”

“Fuck you!”

“Five then,” Jensen responds. “Well, let’s get started.  It’s a bit different this time.  You know what to expect.  I know that you’re not faking this for money.  And you’re being awfully quiet.  You might need a bit of time to work up to having your dick flogged.  Why don’t we start with the cane?”

Jared feels a bit dizzy at the mention of the tiny flogger.  Five strikes.

“Well, are you playing along or what?  What do you say?”

“Please, Jensen.  Please, stop, Jensen.”

“That’s not what you call me,” Jensen says, frowning.  “You call me ‘Master’.”

“You gave me a safe word.  I’m using it.  Jensen.  Jensen. Jensen.”

“Your safe word was a joke!” Jensen snaps, looking taken aback.  But the name is still lingering in the room, Jared can feel it. Jensen turns to the table.  In an instant he has a cane in his hand, dark curved wood.  Jared remembers the pain of it.  He watches as Jensen lays the wood against the paleness of Jared’s thighs, testing the path he’ll lay down with his strokes.  This time, Jared will be able to see the marks, pink and white lines of pain on his skin.

“I won’t let you hold me,” Jared blurts.  Lifting his eyes from the cane, Jensen frowns at his pet.

“Beg your pardon?”

“You can do what you like, Jensen,” Jared says. “But after, I won’t let you comfort me.  I won’t accept it and I won’t ask for it.  If there’s a cage I’ll crawl into it.”

Jensen laughs. “Seriously?  That’s your threat?  The neediest, clingiest man I’ve ever met, who needs affection like he needs air, is threatening not to ask for hugs and cuddles?  Game on, pet.  I’m sure I can hold out longer than you.”

“You probably can,” Jared says fiercely. “I’m not tough, not like that.  But for as long as I can, I’m going to fight to keep from giving you what you want.”

“Good,” Jensen says, and he draws back the cane, arm hovering in the air. “Maximum resistance. What I asked for that first night. You broke in less than two hours. Let’s see you try.”

Jared shuts his eyes.  He hears the whistle as the cane moves through the air, the hum caused by minute vibrations in the moving wood.  He hears a crack, and then his thighs are painted in one thin line of fire.

Jared screams.

His eyes pop open.  He can see the weal rising on his legs.  He looks up and meets Jensen’s eyes.

“Jensen.”

“I’m not stopping.”

Each hit feels like a hot brand being laid against Jared’s flesh.  He keeps his eyes shut tight.  He can hear the crisp snap of the cane, Jensen’s panting breathes, his own sharp shrieks as the implement connects with his thighs.  He bites his lip and weathers the pain, waiting it out.

“Look at me.”

Jared looks up through watering eyes.  Jensen’s wearing his Master face, flushed pink, eyes heavy-lidded and aroused, cruel, pleased smile.

“I saw that expression every time we were together,” Jared pants. “You’re a terrible actor, Jensen.”

Jensen growls angrily and tosses down the cane.  He storms toward Jared.

“All the books said you shouldn’t do this angry!” Jared squeaks.

The words stop Jensen in his tracks.

“Are you in control right now?” Jared asks desperately.  He’s never been more aware of his helplessness.  He was an idiot, baiting a man who has him restrained and at his mercy. “Is this dominance or just your temper, Jensen?”

“Call me ‘Master’,” Jensen growls.

“I can’t!”

“It’s not like you have anything to go back to anyway,” Jensen sneers. “Another dead-end job?  Your loser friend?  Probable death and torture once you’re found?  Do you know what I could give you?  Just say the word.  Call me ‘Master’ and stop fighting.  You were never going to win anyway.”

Jensen steps forward, his breathing fast and noisy, anger held by a slim, tentative leash.

“Jensen,” Jared whispers. “Stop.”

“What are you even fighting for?” Jensen asks, cocking his head.

“Maybe I’m fighting for us,” Jared says. “Maybe I’m fighting for the man you should’ve been that night, when you realized what you were doing.”

“I’m not going to change,” Jensen whispers.  He looks at Jared and Jared can see caring.  Tenderness.  Possession.  Maybe even something resembling guilt. It’s not love, not as Jared learned it.  It may be all that Jensen has to offer.

“I know.”

“Enough of this,” Jensen says impatiently.  He turns back to the table and grabs a gag.  Before Jared can grit his teeth, lock his jaw, Jensen has the thing in Jared’s mouth, is buckling it roughly behind his head. “You can be silent for the rest of this.  You can be silent for weeks if necessary.  I’ll break you back down again if I have to.  You’ll come around.”

If Jared shakes his head frantically, it’s only because Master is right.  There’s no way Jared can be restrained, isolated and tormented, and not turn to someone for affection. After some time in Jensen’s basement prison, he’s going to break down.  He’s going to stop fighting.

It’s only human nature.

“I’m going to do what I want,” Jensen intones angrily. “Then I’m going to knock you out and haul your big, gorgeous ass to the car.  We’re going home.  This vacation is over, for you even more than me.”

Jensen kneels.  He runs his hands up Jared’s thighs, smiling as his pet hisses in pain around the gag.  Then something like a sad smile comes over his face.

“I wish I was sorry.”

Master leans in, plush mouth pursed, to press a sucking kiss around Jared’s nipple.  Jared twists away as much as he can, grimacing.  It’s not fair.  He can already feel himself hardening.  It’s like his stupid body doesn’t realize that Jensen is a very bad man.

There’s clever fingers stroking up the length of his cock. “Good boy.”

Whatever else Jensen plans to do, plans to say, never comes to fruition.

There’s a clicking hum and suddenly the power’s cut.  All the lights go out.


	20. Lights Out

The lights cut out.

Before Jared can even react to the sudden darkness, his chair is tilting back towards the floor. If his arms and legs were free, he would flail them. The chair back hits the wooden planks with a soft thud and then he's being pushed behind the kitchen cabinets, scooting with a soft scuffling sound.

"Wha--"

"Hush." Jensen's fierce whisper is followed by his hand slapping across Jared's mouth. It's too much--the restraints, the covering of his mouth--he starts to feel his heart race, his breath come in panicked snorts through his nose.

"Sorry." The hands slides away, cupping his cheek briefly. Then Jared feels hands loosening the cuffs on his arms and legs. "We're fucked. I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?"

Flat on his back, Jared nods his head vigorously, before remembering the absolute darkness. "Yes."

"Good. Let me get you free, then crouch down and stay here. I'm guessing you didn't just tell your friend to report you missing."

Rubbing his wrists, Jared crouches beside the upended chair. His eyes are starting to adjust. He can see Jensen reaching up to fiddle with the gas stove.

"I told Chad your name. And about the house."

"Dammit. They know who I am. It's child's play to trace my previous jobs, look for unoccupied houses of previous hits."

"I'm sorry."

"Well, we have a 50/50 chance here. It may just be my Boss' dramatic approach to hauling me home. Or it may be Pellegrino's men. Either way the lights are a good sign."

"Why?" Jared whispers.

"Easy enough to shoot us through all these windows. But a tranquilizer dart doesn't travel through glass. My bet is on a home invasion with night vision or infrared goggles."

"Sounds overly complicated."

"Not if they want us alive," Jensen answers. He finishes with the stove and Jared can now see the blue glow of all six lit burners. Jensen smiles faintly in the gloom. "Heat signature. It's not much, but it might block the outlines of our bodies. We're going out the back. They'll expect me to go for my car. And my gun. You need to follow me and stay close."

Crouching, Jared follows Jensen out of the kitchen and towards the patio doors. He feels more naked than usual, every inch of his skin a visible target. Jensen eases the door open silently, then starts to slide out. He motions Jared forward. Then tugs at his pet's arm as Jared stands quivering and frozen in place.

"C'mon."

"Can't."

"This is a really inconvenient time to have a phobia, Jared! I said come on!"

Jensen tugs and Jared digs in his heels. Then Jensen does some sort of complicated maneuver with his hips and Jared is flying out the door to land on the wood deck with a not-so-quiet 'oof!'

"Ow!"

"Hold on--"

Any panic or argument Jared might have offered dies in his mouth as a large black shape rushes at him from around the house. He hears a puff and a hiss, feels a sting across his wrist and then someone is colliding with him, knocking them both back to the ground.

Jared slides around in the dark, grappling. He feels his fist connect with what might be a nose, hears a curse, and then he's on top and the other person is beneath him and he's punching hard with everything he's got.

"Easy, Jared!" Jensen drags him away from the limp body beneath him, pulling them both off the deck and around the edge of the house.

Peeking over, vision adjusted for the sliver of moon, Jared can see two men in black clothing, the goggles on their faces distorting their features, making them look like malicious insects. They are laid out on the deck.

"Good job, Rocky,"Jensen whispers, sounding breathy. "One for me and one for you. Now listen. Are you hurt?"

Jared squints at his wrist. There's a thin line of blood along the tender skin, black in the moonlight. "Just a scratch, I think."

"Okay. Listen. There's a dock. Straight through the trees. Follow the path. There's a boat. Keys in it. Take it and follow the lights across the lake. That's the town. Get there. Do not go to the police."

"I don't know how to drive a boat!"

"Swim if you have to. It's warm enough. Go!"

Jared hesitates. "Maybe...maybe I should help...?"

Jensen chuckles. "I'm a professional, baby. And now I have goggles and a weapon, courtesy of our pals here. I got this. Go. Go now. Hurry!"

"But--"

"You stay, you'll be a distraction. Go. Go now, that's an order!"

Jared starts to dart away, then is drawn back in. Jensen presses a kiss to his pet's lips, hard and fast.

"I'll find you," Jensen says and it sounds like both a threat and a promise.

Jensen watches as Jared wheels away and begins to stumble across the lawn. Then he looks at the dart he has pulled from his own arm and mutters quietly, "Fuck."

 

**

 

Running in a crouch, hissing as twigs dig into his feet, Jared runs across the back lawn. He can barely see, and he can't help but look back, to see if Jensen is okay. He watches his Master re-enter the house, then suddenly collides with something large and furry, tumbling over it and onto his back, losing his wind.

What the hell?

The stag. It lies on the grass, enormous and still. Jared crouches beside it, struggling to breathe. Is it dead? He puts his hand on the flank, feels the heat coming from the deer's body, the rise and fall of its breath. Just knocked out. Probably courtesy of a tranquilizer.

It's strange, to be this close to a wild animal. Jared leans up against the animal's belly as his chest unlocks and he's able to draw a breath. It's softer than he thought. And ranker. God, the stag stinks.

Unable to help himself, Jared cranes his neck to peer over the deer's body and look at the house. And freezes in fear.

There are two men on the deck, both dressed in black. They're looking right at him.

Trembling, Jared tries to decide what to do. Should he rush them? Run? But before he can decide, the men are turning away, sliding into the house through the French doors.

The goggles. Jared is masked by the stag's body heat. He heaves a sigh of relief, then looks up at the sky. Mistake. His vision starts to tunnel, and he forces himself to look down at the ground, running in a crouch again toward the trees.

As far as paths go, it's not much of one. Just a rutted dirt track, covered with leaves and pebbles. The trees arch over the path, blocking out the sky, almost like a tunnel. Jared can pretend he's not outside, that he's contained somehow. It keeps the panic at bay. He hurries along, panting.

As the trees open up to a wide arc of starry sky, a huge black expanse of water, and the dock, Jared keels forward, clawing at his chest. Not now, not now.

Fuck, of course now.

Burying his face in the grass, turned away from all the big, open spaces, Jared writhes and kicks and gasps in the throws of a panic attack. It feels like it lasts forever.

When he comes down, Jared sits up, face wet, and then slides into a crouch. He shuffles toward the boat, eyes on the ground. The key is in the ignition, and Jared shivers at the wave of self-loathing he feels as he stares at the control panel, figuring out how to operate the boat.

A way out all this time. And all it would have taken was for Jared to man up, suffer a few panic attacks, and haul his ass through the woods. He could have been away. Away from this whole damn mess.

If you even wanted to get away, a small voice mutters nastily in Jared's head and he pushes it down as he turns the key in the ignition.

The boat rumbles to life and Jared turns to unmoor the line and nearly collides with a tall dark figure standing inches from him. A thin yelp is all Jared can manage before dark fabric is thrown over his head and he feels a pinch at his neck.


	21. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

The car rumbles slowly down the road.

Sitting on a soft leather seat, hands cuffed behind his back, hood over his head, Jared counts the thumps of the tires. They have moved away from the jarring bounce of the rutted road near the house, now they are on some ill-repaired blacktop. It's stupid to try to count the turns of the car in his mind, he doesn't know where he is anyway, but Jared needs something to do.

There's a large man sitting to Jared's left. He hasn't said anything, just jerked Jared in the direction he wants him to go. He led Jared back through the woods to the waiting car. If Jared resists, he pinches his fingers down on the cluster of nerves in Jared's neck. The sharp, sudden pain almost sends Jared crumpling to his knees.

"Hey, listen--" It's the third time Jared's tried to talk.

"Shut it!" The snarl comes from the front seat.

The man beside him places his hand on Jared's neck warningly.

"Sit down, shut up, I'm not telling you again."

The man beside him speaks finally, words soft. "Just sit tight, kid."

The voice is deep, melodic. Jared knows that voice.

"Sir?" Jared breathes.

A long finger strokes along Jared's collarbone. Same rough rasp to the skin. It is Sir.

"Quiet is better," Sir whispers. "Can you do that for me?"

Jared nods.

The drive is long. After a while, Jared gives up trying to document to turns and the road smooths out, becoming sleek highway. The thrum of the car and the hiss of the wheels is almost hypnotic. Jared feels sleepy despite his uncertainty, his fear. A hand comes up to touch the side of Jared's head, to draw him down so he is resting against Sir's shoulder.

Jared sleeps.

He sleeps for hours, rousing only when he hears what must be a gate opening, feels the road under the car change from asphalt to gravel. Then he is being led out of the car, his feet cataloging gravel, then stone, then carpet. He can sense light and warm and the low murmur of voices. "

"Well, where is he?" Someone says.

"Taken, I suspect," Sir answers. "The house was empty when we approached. Two unconscious men on the porch, three bodies in the house. We took care of them."

"He's alive?"

"I'm sure of it. For now. We'll have to wait for the call."

"They'll want to negotiate, I suspect."

"He did kill their men unprovoked."

"Yes. Being in the wrong is so annoying. Still, if they think to hold him they'd better think again."

"Yes, Boss."

Jared is being drawn closer, and then pushed to his knees. The carpet is plush under his skin.

"This one of them?"

There's a lot of command in that voice. Jared feels his skin prick with goosebumps.

"Didn't think stripping our enemies naked was your style, Tim."

"Not one of them. It's complicated."

The hood is whooshed from Jared's head. He squints in the bright glare. When his vision adjusts, he looks up. Standing before him are two people. One is a man, hair dark and scruff salt-and-pepper, his eyes dangerously dark and intent. The other is a woman, a cascade of red waves falling over her shoulder, an unimpressed smirk on her face.

"So who is this?"

"Jensen's pet," Tim answers. Jared sneaks a look at him. He's looming over Jared, face neutral, blue eyes on the man in front of him. Jared can't help but lean a bit Sir's way. He's the only semi-friendly face in the room.

"Pretty," the woman sniffs. "And distracting."

"This the one?"

"Yes."

The man leans forward, hands folding across his chest. He says, "So you're the reason for my son's recent impulsive behavior."

Jared swallows hard. Son?

"This is Jared, Jeff," Tim supplies.

"Jared, Jared," Jeff murmurs. "What are we going to do with you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Oprah voice* "And you get a cliffhanger! And you! And you! Everyone gets a cliffhanger!"
> 
> This concludes "An Impulse Purchase" and I hope you had fun. If you didn't, hey, the Internet is a big place. You might find something you like elsewhere. :D
> 
> I might try my hand at a sequel after the new year. Big thanks to everyone who commented. I love hearing your thoughts and interacting with you. Kisses, mes amis.


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